Amazing Fantasy
by D
Summary: A bold new series! Heroes and villains from all across the Marvel U!
1. Freedom's Five

Freedom's Five

A Mighty Tale Told in the Might Marvel Manner!

Under Blood Soaked Skies

On the fog swept moor near the manor house came the distinct roar of an engine. High above the ground, seated in the cockpit of his plane, was the Phantom Eagle, otherwise known as Karl Kaufman. The American pilot brought his plane around for a landing on a specially marked runway near a barn on the outskirts of the estate. Taxiing down the paved driveway, he brought his plane to a stop as a young man approached him.

"They're waiting for you in the drawing room sir."

Doffing his goggles, the Phantom Eagle nodded as he stood up. "Thank you Hodgekins." He stepped down as the young man unfolded a large tarp and began to cover the plane.

Walking on the path, he never stopped being impressed by the land around him. "Monty sure knows how to live it up." He slipped through the hedges and entered the manor house via the servants' entrance. The house was quiet; as all the servants save Hodgekins had been sent out for the evening. Walking down the darkened corridors and past the gloomy portraits of the former residents served as no distraction to him as he marched past the chiming grandfather clock and entered the drawing room.

Before him were his comrades in arms, better known to the world as the Freedom's Five. Standing off to the side and wearing his usual formal wear was the owner of the house, James Montgomery, Lord Falsworth, otherwise known as the Union Jack, and de facto leader of their band. Reclining on the sofa was the other peer of the realm, Sir Steel. His son, the Silver Squire sat dutifully in a chair next to him. Both Brits were dressed in normal attire, but both were wearing their masks.

"Alright Monty, what's so important I had to be dragged away from the front?" Kaufman made his way to the sideboard and helped himself to the cold roast and a bottle of brandy.

"In due time my colonial friend, we are short a member."

Just as the British Lord spoke, the window was kicked open as a scarlet clad man burst into the room. He tucked and rolled into the room and stopped in a kneeling position. "Ta da!"

"Really, Cavalier, must you do that every time?" Falsworth sighed as he pulled the golden cord to close the curtain.

"Ah my friend, is it my fault you English have no sense of the dramatic?" The French hero theatrically bowed. "But tell me, what is so important that it requires the attention of the Crimson Cavalier?"

"This." A new voice spoke from the shadows. In a flash the Frenchman's hand fell to his dagger, while Kaufman drew his pistol.

"Stay your hands friends." Union Jack held up his hands as the stranger entered the room. Kaufman relaxed, but only a little. The others followed suit as the stranger stepped over to the far wall and set up a screen and small metal box. "This is-"

The stranger cut him off. "Names can be dangerous in this line of work. For convenience's sake, you may refer to me as Mr. Stone." Kaufman was intrigued. He had never seen anyone give orders to the Union Jack before. Looking at the man, he got a strange feeling about him.

Mr. Stone, if that was his real name, stood nearly six foot two. His blond hair was short, but not military regulation length. His blue eyes, however, just seemed off. This was a man who had witnessed far too many things.

"Gentlemen, I am here unofficially. As far as anyone is concerned, this meeting never happened."

"Standard cloak and dagger rules, we know the drill by now." Sir Steel grunted under his mask. Stone narrowed his eyes at him.

"What I am about to show you must not leave this room." Nodding to Lord Falsworth, the lights were dimmed as Stone turned a projector on. It hummed to life as it projected a bright light onto the screen. Kaufman heard nothing, but he knew everyone save Stone were shocked by what they saw.

On the wall was a thing. It looked like a man's skeleton, save that it was clearly animated. Its bony maw was opened wide, in its hands a flaming saber. It was wading through dead soldiers before the footage stopped. "Is this a joke?" Steel spat as he stood up.

"It's no joke, I can assure you." Stone opened a small case and pulled out a glass jar. Holding it up to the light, there was a collective gasp as they saw the contents. It appeared to be an oversized rat wearing a tattered coat. "Gentlemen, what I hold in my hand is something called-"

"Short Teeth." The Crimson Cavalier spoke up.

Stone put the jar down. His eyebrow was raised. "You've heard of them?"

The French hero nodded. "Yes. There were rumors of the Germans using giant rats. I laughed at them, until I saw them with my own eyes."

"Rats in trenches? That's hardly shocking." The Silver Squire spoke up, but a glare from the Cavalier silenced him.

"True, rats are quite common in the mud, but tell me, do the English rats were German uniforms?" Rolling his sleeve up, he thrust his forearm into the light of the protector. It was riddled with tiny bite marks.

Stone slipped the jar back into his case. "It is good one of you believes, as it saves me the trouble. Gentlemen, the reason you've been brought here is because this," he pointed towards the skeleton, "is connected to this."

"According to reports, this, ghost, as the Germans are calling it, was fighting with the creature called Verminus Rex, the apparent leader of the Short Teeth. It killed the rat, and due to that the Short Teeth disserted the German Army."

"And this is a problem, how?" Kaufman was unnerved.

"Word has come from the very top that the Germans are quite displeased with this turn of events, and have dispatched an agent to try and find this ghost. The belief is that they intend to either offer up this figure as a sacrifice as means to get to the Short Teeth back or in some way use this figure's power for their means."

"And who is this agent?" Sir Steel had a feeling he knew the answer, they all did, as the Union Jack turned on the lights.

"My brother, Baron Blood."

Somewhere in Germany

John Falsworth, otherwise known as Baron Blood, sat at the head of the table while the Kaiser talked. He licked his overdeveloped canines, knowing the effect it had on the men around him. Before him was the Kaiser, whose tone would have put him to sleep if he weren't already dead. Next to him was van Rintelen, one of the better spies Germany had to offer. He knew van Rintelen was scared of him, as the man's hands dropped to the cross in his pocket every time he looked at him.

"Baron," The Kaiser wheezed through his moustache, "Do you understand your orders?"

"Find this American freak and bring him back here? I think I can manage." Blood smiled widely before slowly turning into mist. Drifting up and out through the air duct, the mortal men in the room both breathed a sigh of relief.

"Has it come to this? Using monsters to find other monsters?" Wilhelm II wiped his brow.

Captain van Rintelen withdrew the cross from his pocket. "And an English monster at that."

"Captain, you are one of my best spies. I want you to follow him. Make sure we find that creature responsible for this mess."

Meanwhile

If there was anything Private Jeremiah Kale hated the most, it was mud. Hunched in it up to his shins, he had long given up trying to make himself warm or dry. Around his were his squad mates, Tex, Pumpkin, Tunnel, Cotton, and Top Shelf. Those weren't their real names, or even their nicknames. The original men who bore those titles were long dead, and he never saw the point in trying to come up with new ones.

"All right you gold bricks, on my signal, we give the Hun what's coming to them!" The Sergeant sloughed through the mud. Peering through his battered binoculars, he pulled out his whistle. "On my command, charge!" He blew the gold plated trinket for all it was worth. There was a great cheer, save from Kale. He watched the sun begin its descent, and he knew the demon inside he would be free. Tightening the grip on his rifle, he leapt to his feet and took off into a sprint as the ground around him kicked up from the steady fire of the machine gun.

"God, let me live for one more night!" He prayed as he threw himself into a pile of corpses. If any of his fellows had bothered to pay him any mind, they might have turned their guns on him instead of the Germans. His skin warped and smoked as an internal heat began to build. Smoke rose off of his body as his flesh disintegrated. Evaporating, he dug his now skeletal hands into the rifle's stock, igniting the wood and melting the metal before he flung it away.

Bursting free of the corpse strewn hole, he gave a silent prayer that nobody on his side could see him, or at least no one who was still alive, as he held out his hand and concentrated. In his hand a flaming cavalry saber formed. Holding it before him, he started to laugh, a ghastly, mocking thing straight from the very bowels of Hell itself.

Spying a machine gun nest, he charged, swinging his saber wildly before him. "Mortal fools! Now your journey into Hell shall begin in earnest!" Ignoring the bullets that pierced his uniform, he easily jogged up to the nest and kicked over the gun. The two German troops screamed. One fell to his knee and began to pray as the other drew his pistol.

The fight was over before it started. With one flash, the armed trooper's head fell from his body, the wound cauterized instantly. His companion screamed and fell backwards into the muck as the flaming specter loomed over him. "I will spare you, and only you. Go, and tell them the Ghost Rider haunts this battlefield and all others!" He held his sword high overhead and laughed madly as the solider scrambled to his feet and ran away gibbering.

A few days later

The trip over had been longer than it should have been. The fog over the channel was thicker than normal. "My brother's power grows more each month. All the more reason we must put an end to him now." Union Jack's response gave the rest of the team no comfort.

Even the sun's light seemed dim. Even for the fall, the air had a chill about it. Rolling smoke and fog swarmed over the field. Kaufman stretched back in the cockpit as the other members mulled around. "So, what's the plan?"

Union Jack took a picture from his belt. "Blasted thin, that's what." Shaking his head, he pointed towards the woods. "Eagle, you and Steel head towards this coordinates. Every sighting of that creature has coincided with the movements of this Army unit. Their last known position was here. Do you remember the password?"

"Toads in winter? Yes." Kaufman took the scrap of paper and tucked it in his jacket.

"Squire, you and Cavalier wait here with the radio. If we fail to return or signal, head back to base. Understand?"

"Yes sir!" The Silver Squire saluted sharply. Union Jack frowned under his mask. He admired the boy's enthusiasm, but bringing children to a war? Was this what the world was coming to?

"What about you?" Sir Steel asked as he checked his broadsword.

"I'm heading due south. If my brother is here, he'll go for me first. That should buy you all some time."

Elsewhere

Baron Blood lay perfectly still. Encased in the pine box filled with his native English dirt, he was for all purposes dead to the world. Captain van Rintelen would have preferred he stay that way forever, but his orders still stood. The coffin was gently placed, as well as the undead fiend's orders, in a shallow grave. Several sentries were placed around the ditch, all with orders not to leave.

He sighed as he walked a few feet away from the ditch and entered the churchyard. Slipping past the stone markers, he stepped into the chapel. Taking a seat, he crossed himself. "Dear God in Heaven, what have I done?" Those men, those poor brave men…

He broke a leg off of an overturned chair. That strike, that was all he needed! Why, he could order the men away, dig the fiend up and be done with before anyone would know!

No, he chastised himself, someone would know. They were losing the war; he tried to argue to himself. With the Americans moving ever closer to Berlin, he doubted they could keep up the fight for much longer. He couldn't disobey an order, no matter how repellent he found the task. Drawing his cross out, he clutched it tightly in his fist as he waited for the sun to set

PE

Sir Steel marched stoically through the blasted countryside. He knew the jokes people told about his costume, and in truth they were right. Chain and plate mail were extremely heavy and very cumbersome. A knife would be dented, but that came at the ability to jog. Using a secret method, he had worked diligently to create a new kind of armor, something that was light enough to run in, yet heavy enough to stop a bullet. As the few rays of light weakly shone through the clouds, he grinned grimly under his helmet as he saw the Phantom Eagle's brightly colored plane. "At least I don't have to worry about attracting any spotters."

UJ

The Union Jack, in the relative safety of the trees, checked his weapons once more. His Webley .455 was loaded and cleaned. His dagger, forged from the purest of silver, rested on his hip. His belt was loaded with more bullets, both silver and regular. "Well James, it looks you've the tools, but do you have the strength?" Baron Blood was a monster, yes, but he was also his brother. The sun started its setting as he rolled down his mask. "Heaven, give me strength."

CC

The Crimson Cavalier popped his neck as he sat by the radio. The Silver Squire had been busy practicing with his mace and shield. "Squire."

"Yes?" The boy didn't even stop his exercises as he fought bravely against the imagined enemy.

"Why do you fight?"

"What do you mean?" That was enough to stop the boy's swings.

"I mean, why are you here, in the mud and blood of men? Shouldn't you be at school? Or playing with your fellows?"

The Sliver Squire stiffened. "My father though highly enough of me to begin my training, and that I was allowed this honor speaks well enough of him."

He sighed. "Of course, why didn't I think of that?" He then noticed the unusually heavy fog that seemed to rolling directly towards them. Leaping to his feet, he drew his sword. "Get behind me boy." Before the Squire could protest, he held up his hand. "Don't argue! Get up in the tree and hold on to that shield, no matter what!"

BB

"Dear Lord, just let their suffering end!" van Rintelen clutched his cross as the screams echoed throughout the chapel. Hearing approaching footsteps, he pocketed the cross and stood up.

"Captain? I believe you have my orders ready?" Blood's voice was raspy. "Just slid them under the door, that's a good fellow." van Rintelen shook with revulsion.

"Did you have to kill them all?" He whispered to himself as he slid the paper under the door.

"Why captain, if anything I made them more efficient. Don't worry, they'll be up and about in a few days." Blood's laughter faded away as van Rintelen flung open the door.

"No they won't!" Snapping off the rest of the chair's legs, he marched over to the blood soaked bodies with the makeshift stakes in his hand…

PE

Kaufman swore as he stared down the barrels of the various rifles and pistols being pointed at him. Sir Steel was arguing his case with the CO, but the man refused to listen to them. Kaufman lit a cigarette as the two men argued.

"And I'm telling you, the password is 'Frogs in Winter'!"

The CO spat on the ground. "And I don't care. Nobody told me about any kind of passwords, secret handshakes, or two costumed bums running around here. So unless you can prove you ain't no Krauts, I'd suggest you had over that pig sticker of yours." Pointing with his pistol, he gestured towards the trench wall. "Kale! Get your sorry hide over there and watch them."

Kale nervously nodded before leading them back away from the rest of the men. "Sorry about this." He mumbled as he hung his head low. When they were good distance away, down one of the smaller trenches, he stopped. "What's that?"

The area had grown silent. A strange fog crept over the battlefield, swallowing up everything in sight. Kale felt the all too familiar tingling just as thousands of red eyes appeared near the edge of the trench. "You two," he dropped his rifle. "Get out of here." Breaking into a run, he darted away from the confused Phantom Eagle and Sir Steel. "Just run and don't look back!"

SS

The Silver Squire fought to maintain his balance as the wolves surrounded them. The Crimson Cavalier had his back to the tree, furiously slashing away with his rapier and dagger as the wolves attacked him and the tree. When he could, he swung down and cracked on the beast's heads with his mace. "How are you doing boy?" The Cavalier was breathing hard. Blood ran down his scarlet pants and into his boots as he vainly tried to hold back the assault.

"We have to warn the others!" The Silver Squire started to panic. The radio had been torn to pieces. How could he warn his father and the rest of the team?

"And spoil the fun? No, I say we give these mangy mongrels what for!" He laughed madly as he speared another wolf. A small barrier was forming at his feet of the dead and dying animals. The Silver Squire silently said a prayer as a snapping jaw tore away at the low hanging branches around him.

UJ

"Blast!"

He was too late. Arriving at the supposed drop off point, Union Jack cursed himself as he found only a disrupted hole in the ground and several dead Germans. Noticing the stakes in their hearts, his anger gave way to curiosity. Who had done this?

"Halt!" His question was answered when a man in a German officer's uniform stepped out from the chapel. "Who goes there?"

"Only a well-dressed loon." He held up his hands.

"Wait, you are the Union Jack, correct?" the officer stepped closer and lowered his gun. "My name is van Rintelen. I was assigned to aid that monster you Brits refer to as Baron Blood. Tell me, do you plan to stop that monster?"

"I do."

The officer holstered his weapon. "Then go. There is a motorcycle right behind this chapel. It should get you there without too much trouble."

"Why are you helping me?"

Sighing, van Rintelen looked out at the vast night. "I love my country, but I can not align myself with monsters, no matter the cost." He silently turned and went back inside. Union Jack didn't miss a beat. Running towards the motorcycle, he revved the engine and rode on towards the battlefield. The NSU was beat up, but it still rode.

FF

"What the blazes are those things?" Kaufman heard one of the men cry as a tidal wave of rats dropped over the side and started to fill the trench. Drawing his gun, he joined the rest of the men as they fired round after round into the thick black mass.

"Retreat!" The CO shouted as he yanked the pin out of a grenade and tossed it into the approaching blackness. The explosion was muffled and failed to show the rats down.

"Get to your plane!" Sir Steel shouted as he cleaved a path. Kaufman nodded and fought back the urge to vomit as dozens of tiny teeth pierced his boots. Climbing up the closest ladder, he stopped as he saw a pair of leather clad feet. Looking up, he saw the owner of those feet.

"Baron Blood!" He brought his gun up, but Blood had his hand around his throat in an instant.

"Ah, the so-called Phantom Eagle." With a shrug, he tossed him over his shoulder. "I have bigger concerns that you boy." Changing into mist, he floated down into the trench. "Where is the one I seek?"

"Monster!" Sir Steel charged. The vampire easily sidestepped him.

"Yet another peasant." Kicking the armored man into the mud, Blood picked him up by his helmet and began to squeeze. "You should be more mindful of your station. Perhaps if I skinned that brat of yours would make you more mindful of this."

As Steel's visor began to crumble, an unearthly laughter filled the air. Blood, his nostrils flaring, flung Steel away. "Come out!"

Through the mist and the fog, they all spied a figure walking towards them. Dressed in a bloody and mud splattered uniform, no one said anything until the madly laughing being lit a flare and held it up to his face. Steel gasped and several of the men openly prayed. Blood snorted and flexed his claws.

"Be careful of what you command monster, for the Ghost Rider shall see to it that you're suffering shall be legendary!" The figure clutched the flare as it suddenly exploded. In the Rider's bony hand was now a flaming saber.

"You speak of Hell to me? I will personally send you there myself!" Blood bared his fangs and rushed towards the flaming skeleton. As the Ghost Rider drew back his blade, Blood suddenly turned into mist and reformed behind him. His teeth glistening, he reached out and snagged the Rider from behind.

UJ

Union Jack killed the motor as he approached the grove. Two figures were hobbling toward him. "Squire!" Hopping off the motorcycle, he rushed over to the boy just as the youth's legs gave out from under him.

Kneeling down, he checked the Crimson Cavalier's wounds first. The man's legs and arms were chewed and blood stained his clothes. "So, my friend," he wheezed, "do you have any other siblings we should know about?"

Union Jack tied the wounds as best he could. The Silver Squire's injuries, by comparison, weren't as severe. "Stay with him."

"But what if those animals come back?" The Squire gazed back at the woods.

Under his mask, the Union Jack's face grew grim. "They won't; Blood has found what he was looking for."

BB

Baron Blood howled with rage as he ordered the vermin to swarm over the Ghost Rider. With each wave the ghostly figure grew closer, as he easily sliced his way through the rats and burned the rest with his unholy fire. "Why won't you die?" He snarled as he turned himself into mist to avoid a sword thrust. Reforming behind the flaming skeleton, he found that the Rider was quite immune to direct bodily attacks, as he attempt to grab the Rider's neck resulted in a scorched hand.

Sir Steel forced himself up. The rats were ignoring him and the rest of the men. The Phantom Eagle was busy helping the rest of the unit up and out of the trench. When the last man was away, he helped haul Steel up. "So, what's the plan against that?"

"Hope they kill each other." Steel spat and felt something warm sliding around his mouth. "Come on, we have to regroup. I think our ghostly friend can handle this fight." As they limped away, the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle filled the air. "Reinforcements?"

Seeing the blue-garbed figure streaking towards them made something break in the men. From the wounded troops came a great shout as the Union Jack raced over the hard ground towards them. Gesturing towards the trench, Steel and the Phantom Eagle both dived out of the way as he raced past.

UJ

There was no hesitantly on his part. His mind was calm and free of distraction as he angled the motorcycle towards the trench and raced alongside it. Seeing Baron Blood floating in midair, he gunned the engine and that's when things went wrong.

The engine started to sputter as the ground gave way to mud. Going into a slide, he tried to fight against the momentum he had built, but Blood offered him no chance. Solidifying his arm, Blood struck him across the chest, knocking him free of the cycle. Crashing hard, he tried to stand as Blood reshaped and stood on his chest. Glancing back towards the Ghost Rider, he gestured towards the teeming black horde. Millions of rats swarmed the Ghost Rider, pushing their dead comrades end over end, quickly burying him alive. "That should hold him for a while." His fangs bared, he bent down closer to the Union Jack's prone form. "Brother, I am going to enjoy this."

GR

The Ghost Rider strolled through the rats. It was hard, but he flame burned them away as he struggled to regain his footing. His hand burst free of the fleshly quagmire and blindly groped around. Shifting away the mud and muck, his bony hand creased something hard. Working his other hand free, he shoved his sword into the trench wall and used his new handholds to climb up and out. Emerging from the waste and filth, he looked down to see the dented motorcycle at his feet. Righting it, he looked away to see Baron Blood looming over the prone Union Jack.

"Hold fast mortal!" Slipping one leg over it, the Ghost Rider tried to make the engine run, but the ignition clicked emptily. Gripping the handlebars tighter, he concentrated and felt the mystical fire that flowed through and his sword enter the machine.

The tires began to spin, kicking up great amounts of mud. Sinking into the muck, the Ghost Rider tightened his grip, forcing more fire into the metal. The tires responded by bursting into flame. Oddly, the fire didn't spread, but rather flared out before reshaping into the form of the former tires.

Strange as it may have been, the motorcycle easily worked itself free of the hole. One quick glance back later, the Ghost Rider was racing towards Baron Blood, madly laughing all the way. Drawing his sword, as he grew closer, the hellish flame danced on the blade as the engine screamed with all the sound of the damned and the dying.

BB

Baron Blood was not a man to fear many things. Holding his hated brother down, with his neck at his mercy, he relished the scents around him; flesh, blood, sweat, and dozens more. As he lowered himself, he was suddenly struck by another smell.

Brimstone?

Releasing the choke on the Union Jack, he spun and froze. Before him, racing on a machine that could have only been dreamt by the Devil himself, was that blasted ghost! "Now, now you will suffer!" Blood hissed as he broke into a run. The Ghost Rider showed no signs of stopping.

The two hellish figures drew closer. With only a few heartbeats (assuming the Ghost Rider was capable of such a feat) between them, the Rider suddenly swerved away and raced up a small incline. Launching himself into the air, he sailed over Blood, landing neatly behind the vampire.

"What?" Blood swore, as he turned around, utterly mystified at the ghost's actions. Looking up, he saw a chain connected to the back of the cycle. The chain glowed white, as it stayed suspended in the air. Turning around, Blood saw that the chain was apparently pulling something; or rather it was connected to something. Before he could move or even change into mist, he found what was being pulled: a stake

The wooden shaft hit his chest and easily shot past his breastbone, burying itself in his heart. He was jerked back by the impact, falling into the dirt and mud. "No!" He shrieked as his flesh dissolved. His eyes rotted away in his head as his organs turned to a foul smelling dust. "I'll get my revenge! Someday James, someday!" His words died as his tongue shriveled and fell away. The ground around him gave way, sending the body into the trench and burying under the weight of battle.

The aftermath

The Freedom's Five stood uneasily as the ghostly figure killed the motorcycle's engine. The flames died instantly, causing the machine to fall over as the Ghost Rider slipped off it. "Who…what are you?" The Phantom Eagle spoke first.

"Someone who hunts evil in all shapes." The Ghost Rider's voice echoed.

Sir Steel acted next, drawing his sword. Instead of fighting, he kneeled before the figure with his blade before him. "You saved my life and the life of my son. Thank you."

The Rider looked at the men, his expression unreadable. He silently turned away and righted the fallen cycle. With a touch, the flame wheels returned. "Wait!" The Union Jack stepped forward. "Who are you?"

"I am that which mortals call the Ghost Rider. I am cursed to seek out evil in all its forms and deliver vengeance upon the wicked. Pray we never meet again." With a mad cackle, the flaming skeleton rode off into the night, leaving the five men alone to tend to their wounds.

"What are we going to tell Stone?" The Phantom Eagle looked around at the devastation.

"Why not the truth? I doubt we could make anything up that would be half as fantastic." The Crimson Cavalier joked as the rest of them flagged down a passing ambulance. Leaving the battlefield behind them, the five of them quietly drifted off into their own worlds for the trip back to England.

The end

Epilogue

Night came, as it usually did, and the battles were no closer to being finished. The roar of a motor filled the as a lone runner raced between mounds of pockmarked dirt and dead men. The runner, a low ranking fellow, knew his mission was important, yet there was something that seemed to be calling to him from a caved-in trench. Slowing down, but letting the motor idle, the runner put the kickstand down and walked over to the area.

"Hello?" He called but heard no response. Drawing his pistol, he spied a broken piece of wood jutting out from the dirt at an odd angle. A compulsion filled him. He must remove that stake!

Dropping his gun, he walked over and gripped the wood shaft with both hands. It seemed to take forever, but he slowly edged the rotting wood free of the dirt. He couldn't help but notice a rank smell that emanated from the hole. A stench of death and decay filled the air around him.

Suddenly, the Earth under his body shifted. A hand burst free, clawing wildly at the night sky. Tumbling backwards, the runner blindly groped for his gun as a filthy figure emerged. "I live again!" The runner's body shook as he recognized the beast before him.

"Baron Blood?"

The vampire turned his unholy eyes upon the runner. "Yes, and I have you to thank." Stepping lightly, he helped the runner up to his feet. "What outfit are you with?"

"16th Bavarian Reserve, Regiment List, sir." The runner sharply saluted.

Blood smiled. "You have orders?"

"Yes sir!" The salute never wavered.

"Then I fear you must break them. Take me to the nearest command post. I must get word back to the High Command at once."

"Sir, begging my asking, but what happened here?"

"Oh, nothing important." Blood's gaze lingered over the field. "A battle was lost, but a war may still be won. And if it isn't, then there will be another one. It may take a while, but the blood will flow again before too long." The runner said nothing as they climbed onto his cycle. Blood saw a glimmer in the runner's eyes as he spoke. "Did I say something amusing?"

"No sir, but what did you mean, 'another one'?"

"What I mean, is that there will always be a place for war, and thus always a place for me. Germany has need of my skills, and I won't starve yet. This land has its need for monsters and men who behave like them." The runner, his eyes sparkling, simply nodded in agreement as they rode off into the night.

Amazing Letters

Well, thus ends another issue. A few notes before we begin.

Unlike Amazing Adventures, this series is going to be an anthology. Expect rotating stars and all manner of wild stories, from all corners of the Marvel U. We'll be seeing sights from the Old West, all the way to the far reaches of Outer Space and beyond. The expected, the unexpected, all will be right here so don't miss out on the wildest, most amazing web series today!

This particular tale was wholly original, but the characters are all own by Marvel Comics, all rights reserved.

Next time, we jump ahead to the fabulous 1950's, as we see Monster Hunter extraordinaire Zawadi do battle against the evil Blackjack. The prize? Wakanda itself!

And speaking of upcoming work

Tales to Astonish#10 - Kreature from the Kosmos!

Sensational Comics#11 - Showdown at Midnight!

Journey Into Mystery#12 – Thor and Loki attack the Human Race!

And from our Distinguished Competition

Sensation Comics #1-Wonder Woman Arrives in Man's World!


	2. Zawadi

Zawadi

Zawadi

A Mighty Tale Told in the Mighty Marvel Manner!

Death Comes Swiftly!

October 3, 1956

Within a small café, nestled deep within the winding side streets of Cairo, a meeting was underway. Sitting in the back, a gleaming hook attached to his stump, was a man. Ulysses Klaw, formerly of the Technical University at Delft, tapped his prosthetic against the scratched tabletop as another man joined him.

The figure sat down in front of him. He was young, despite the white hair. His features were obscured by a small black mask. He ordered a beer as Ulysses leaned forward. "I trust your trip was not unpleasant?"

The man snorted. "If you call getting shanghaied from a prison yard unpleasant." The waiter handed him a chipped glass filled with a foamy brew. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"I didn't think so. Tell me, Mr.…"

"Blackjack. If you went to the trouble of springing me, let's just keep to the business name, ok?"

"Very well Blackjack. Allow me to be brief; have you ever heard of a country called 'Wakanda'?"

"Vaguely."

"Yes well. Wakanda is a land filled with a substance called 'Vibranium', a metal with unique properties, properties that are vital to my work. I attempted some months back to enter the land and collect some samples." He held his hook up into the light. "I ran into some…trouble."

"So you want me to go there, do a snatch and grab?"

"Yes, as well as one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"There was a boy, the son of the former king. My men told me his name is T'Challa. I want him dead."

"And for all of this, how much can I get?"

Klaw's smile stayed in place, but his manner changed. Gone was the genial host. In the man's eyes hate boarding on madness danced wildly, giving even Blackjack pause. "All that you desire, provided you bring me that brat's hand!"

Z

Zawadi couldn't help but notice how dry her mouth was, yet how damp her palms had become. Standing before the great doors to the throne room had that effect, she knew, but she still chided herself. "Relax, T'Challa summoned you. There are no guards, so its not like you are in trouble."

The sentries were silent as she entered the vast throne room. Before her, standing off to the side of the throne, stood a young man with a heavy heart. Strolling forward, Zawadi called to her cousin. "T'Challa!"

The young prince glanced up at her from his papers. The throne room had been turned into a makeshift office, as the prince had begun his leaving of the country. "Zawadi, my cousin, how glad am I to see you!" The prince put his papers aside as he rushed forward and embraced her.

"I came as soon as I received word. Mr. Bloodstone was rather disappointed at my leaving."

"I'm sure. It's not often a man meets a woman like you, cousin."

"T'Challa!" Zawadi gave her royal kin a light slap on the arm. "Mr. Bloodstone is a friend, nothing more." Changing the topic, she looked at the disarray around her. "What exactly was so urgent that I had to fly all the way here from Borneo? I was on a hunt with Mr. Bloodstone for a dangerous-"

"I know, a rumored gorilla-like monster. The reason I summoned you, cousin, is that something has come to my attention, and frankly, I don't trust anyone else."

Zawadi's mood darkened. "What is it?"

"Our intelligence reports that the man known as Klaw might send an operative here in an attempt to steal our Vibranium."

"One man?" Zawadi smirked at the news. "Cousin, an entire army couldn't penetrate our land. What can what man do?"

"True, but Uncle S'yan is away, and I didn't wish to alert this fact to him."

"But why? As Black Panther, it is his duty to stop invaders…"

"Yes, but Klaw is the man who murdered my father. Stopping him should be my right, yet all my advisors order me to delegate the duty to someone else."

"Cousin, I understand, but why not allow Uncle to fight him?"

T'Challa turned to her and sighed. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "As I said, Uncle is away. There are rumors that the White Gorilla Cult has returned, and we can't allow that poison to spread once more. He is investigating it, and I don't know when he'll return."

"And since I promised father I'd continue my schooling in Europe, I'm afraid to let anyone else handle this matter."

"I see." Zawadi's manner changed. No longer the carefree young woman, she was now her other self, a hunter. "What can you give me on the target?"

"Very little as of yet. Klaw has been sending out offers to various thieves and mercenaries, but there's been no word on who has joined with him."

"Very well, this must be handled quickly, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then allow me these." She marched to a rack of weapons on the wall and pulled down a spear, two short swords, a shield, a tightly knotted rope, and several daggers. "I'll bring this foe down before your return."

BJ

Blackjack wiped his brow in the heat. Around him stood the rest of the men Klaw had assigned him, not that it made any difference. "You must bring me the youth's arm and the metal, and anything you want will be the reward!" Klaw's words still rang in his ears.

"And I bet he told the rest of these jokers the same deal, didn't he?" He spat.

"Nope, just you. Said a single figure could slip through their defenses easier." Wilson, some wash out from the Marines, grinned. "Not to worry, we'll be here waiting here on this side of the border."

"Great." Suddenly prison didn't seem so bad. Shucking his jacket off, he picked up his knapsack and slung it over his shoulder. "So it's a half a klick to the mountain, and half back, assuming no problems?"

"Yup."

"Fantastic." Turning, he promptly vanished in the tall grass. Ordinarily he'd stick out, what with his purple and black costume, but for this, he felt dressing down would be for the best. Keeping only the mask, he rolled up the sleeves on his tan tunic. "Better hang on to the mask. Keeping my face hidden might save me some trouble down the road." Slipping carefully down the hill, he pulled his binoculars out of his sack and spied at the village down below. "Huts and no signs of life. Maybe I'll get lucky this time out."

Z

Zawadi carefully made her way through the brush. T'Challa offered her the use of his flying sled, but she had to turn him down. "Never trust a machine when your own legs work." She slipped silently past the outskirts of the city and climbed to the top of a tree. She could have waited for the invader, assuming whoever they were made that far, to steal the Vibranium, but she didn't want to risk it. There was too much at stake.

"I have to be the one on the offense." Checking her weapons, she sighed as she hefted the pistol in her hand. She would have preferred to throw the hunk of metal off the side of the nearest mountain and away from her, but she understood the reasons for having it. She just didn't like it.

Sliding back down, she made her way towards the Warrior Falls. With the potential uprisings in the west, and settlements along the East, the best way to get to the precious metal would be to go down Mount Wakanda and follow the River of Grace and Wisdom. "I must stop this invader, who ever he is."

BJ

Blackjack grunted as he trudged down the mountain's face. The grass had given way to a sheer rock face. It had been only luck that he had avoided the few villages that hugged the craggy visage. "Remember, Vibranium in its purest form can only be cut using special tools. Don't lose them." Klaw's words came back to him.

"And what about weapons?" Blackjack patted the .45 on his hip. It was a small comfort. "What do I do when the Wakandian Army goes barking up my tail?"

"Simple, don't let it happen."

Blackjack grumbled as he came to a resting place. "Lousy Dutchman!" Slipping the pack off of his shoulders, he sat down on a nearby rock. "If a small army failed, what can one man do?" Wishing for a cigarette, he scanned the outlaying fields and streams. "Just have to make it to the waterfall, from there it's a smooth trip."

"Right, and I'm Wally Pip."

Z

Zawadi paddled her makeshift canoe as she made her way upstream. "I'll swing by the narrows and wait. The invader must pass through there, and I must be ready for him."

She rowed until her arms burned. Coming near to shore, she disembarked and waded onto land. Dragging her canoe onto the beach, she propped it against a nearby rock. She smiled to herself as she looked over the craft. "Not a bad job, even if I did make it." Gathering wood, she pulled out her flint and built a small fire. Coiling her rope, she buried her gear in the dirt, but as she picked up her spear, the unmistakable sounds of rustling grass made her move.

"So, the pretenders to Wakanda have sent a spy?" Three men emerged from the tall grass. The white pelts around their waists showed their allegiance. The leader of the group twirled his machete. "What do you think brothers, should we kill her, or should we teach her a lesson first?"

The other two drew their blades. Zawadi sighed and shook her head. "You can leave now, and I may not report you."

The leader, a thuggish lout with a crisscross of scars over his chest, snickered. "Very generous, but I don't think you are in the position to-" His words died on his tongue as his two companions pitched forward; twin knifes sticking out of their throats.

"You were saying?" The now lone man paled. His machete quivered in his hand.

"Wait, we were simply hunting, we never meant you any offense!"

Zawadi arched an eyebrow. "Really? Funny how your story changes," She pointed her spear at him. "But since I am in a hurry, I could let you leave with your companions and your life."

The man sweated. Staring at the spear tip, he lowered his weapon. Turning around, he darted off into the brush. Planting the spear into the ground, Zawadi retrieved her knives and prepared to bury the two men. "No sense in attracting any more beasts."

BJ

Blackjack swore for the umpteenth time as he tried to navigate the rapids. Climbing down the mountain had been no picnic, but he had wasted valuable time in getting to the river. "At least the raft works!" he paddled with the current, but the water was quickly proving its dominance over him. Dropping the paddle inside the raft, he gripped the sides as the black rubber craft was quickly turned upside down.

Struggling with his weighted backpack, he slipped free of the accursed weight and swam towards the remaining daylight. He managed to break the surface just as his raft was going over the side of the waterfall. "Aw, crud!"

Z

Zawadi finished patting the earth down. "I wonder if the Black Panther knew of these men?" She made a mental note to contact her uncle later. Getting back to her dinner, she stopped as she spied a strange green mass some distance away in the river. "What's that?"

Slipping her canoe into the water, she paddled swiftly as she drew nearer to the object. "A man!" The man was floating facedown, a backpack wrapped around his ankle. Turning him over, she saw his eyes flicker. "Still alive, could he be the invader?" Hauling him up, she made her way back to shore.

Dragging him back to land, she stretched him out and pressed down on his chest. Water ran out of his mouth as he gagged. Getting a better look at him, she took in the details. He was tall, with an average build, white hair, yet his face looked surprisingly youthful. "I've never seen him before, and that usually means trouble."

Picking up her spear, she untangled his backpack and rifled through it as he regained consciousness. "Digging tools, maps, a gun?" Tightening her grip, she leveled the spear tip at him he woke up. "Start talking."

Blackjack, the haze lifting from his eyes, found himself staring at the business end of a rather long spear. "Damn."

"Not a good answer." Zawadi leaned closer, the tip hovering perilously closer to his eye. "Who are you, and is your business here?"

Blackjack coolly took his eyes off of the deadly weapon and looked into the woman's eyes. She was dressed in skins, yet she had the air of a general. Remembering what Klaw had given him, he rattled off the false information. "My name is Taylor, Charles Taylor. I'm a scientist." He gestured towards the bag at her feet. "My credentials are in my bag."

"What were you doing, sneaking into my country?"

Blackjack was starting to panic. The spear never wavered. Remembering the story, he slowly spread his palms out. "Like I said, I'm a scientist. I was looking into studying your Vibranium mound, but I'm afraid the process of obtaining a permit was taking too long."

"So you snuck in like a thief?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Mr. Taylor, I am finding some doubt within your story."

"Aw, well, you see I had some theories about your metal, theories that needed to be tested." Scrambling to remember the details, Blackjack slowly started to scoop dirt into his hands. "You see, there might a rot, a cancer if you will, that could destroy all the Vibranium in the world."

Zawadi's snort did little to calm his nerves. "Metal rot? I find that hard to believe." Stepping back, she gestured with the spear. "Get up, I'm placing you under arrest."

"Alright." Quickly, he threw the dirt into her eyes as he scrambled to his feet. Staggering back, she jabbed blindly with her weapon. Slipping his mask back on, he darted forward and tackled her to the ground.

"Pig!" She brought her knee up, slamming into his midsection. Wheezing, he rolled off of her and stumbled away. Wiping her eyes clear, she hurled the deadly projectile at his retreating form.

"Damnation!" He swore as the sharp tip sliced through his knee. Staggering, he hopped around on one leg as the deadly warrior approached him. Holding his hands up, he tried another tactic. "Wait, don't kill me!"

Her glowering made him pale. In her hands were a length of rope and knife. He noticed the knife's blade had fresh blood on it. She stood still. "I'm not, only because your corpse would give me no information."

"Alright, this job has gone to crackers far enough." Limping towards her, he held his hands up. "Look, this was just a job, nothing personal. How about I tell you who hired me, and you let me go?"

For an answer Zawadi swept his leg. Quickly reaching out, she bound his hands with the rope. "I have a better offer; you will accompany me to the capital, where we get your leg looked at, as soon as you tell us who's behind this."

He grumbled as he rolled over, trying his best to avoid getting any more dirt in the wound. "Fine, fine, I give up." Hobbling to his feet, he pointed to his wound. "Do you mind if I patch this up first?"

She took the first aid kit out of his bag. Checking it first for weapons, she removed some bandages and alcohol. Tossing them to him, she stood silently as he cleaned the wound and dressed it. "Ready?"

"Yeah, sure." Limping in front of her, he pointed to the bag. "You might want to take that. It has some of my employer's equipment." As she slung the pack over her shoulder, she steered him towards the river's edge. "Alright, this has gone to pot rather quickly. Klaw can keep his money, nothing can be worth this much hassle." His thoughts grew darker. "What if they plan to kill me? I didn't sign up for this!"

As he climbed into the canoe, he turned his head back as Zawadi paddled. "Hey, look, I meant what I said. This was just a job. The guy who hired me was named Klaw, he has a hook for hand!"

Zawadi's eyes opened wide with shock. "Klaw?" Her face darkened. "And you joined forces with him?"

"Why do I get the feeling I said the wrong thing?" Blackjack mentally kicked himself. "Like I said, it was just a job, and to be fair, I was technically abducted."

Elsewhere

Unknown to Zawadi and even Blackjack, they were both being observed. Wilson grimly smiled to himself as he put down the headset. "Perfect. That chump's doing everything the boss said he would."

"But are we sure the transmitter will work this far?" Van Owen nervously tightened his grip on his Thompson sub machine.

"Relax, the boss got this from the best." Wilson picked up his own rifle. "Tell the rest of the boys to break camp. We follow that pair until they get to the capital. While those chumps are worrying about that masked moron, we make off with the metal."

The assembled men gave a brief cheer before getting to work. "Like clockwork boss." Wilson smiled contently as he bayoneted a snake that had slithered into camp. "Come on you goldbricks, we're on the clock!"

Z

Zawadi said little to Blackjack. That hadn't stopped him from talking, of course, but she saw no reason to give him a reason. He droned on about his life, his times in various correctional facilities, and his turn to crime. "Very droll, now do you mind keeping quiet?"

Blackjack raised his hand in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, just trying to make a conversation."

Zawadi shook her head in annoyance. Looking down, her eyes fell upon the open backpack. The top flap had come loose, and with the movement of the canoe, the fabric had slipped free. When she first opened the pack, she thought nothing of its contents. Why should she, when all she saw were the tools of someone trying to steal from her country? But looking closer, she spied something odd. Nestled down at the bottom was what appeared to be a can of shaving cream.

That by itself wouldn't even have raised an eyebrow, but there some was something odd about it. The container was black and lacked any logos. Bringing the paddle in, she carefully reached down and tried to pick it up, but found the can was affixed to the bag itself. Popping the top, she almost gasped as she saw the circuits inside. "A transmitter!"

Eyeing Blackjack, she carefully put the top back and closed the pack. Taking the paddle, she quickly began to paddle towards the shore. "What's going on?" Blackjack sounded confused.

"Something came up."

Landing, she picked up the backpack and walked along the shore. Blackjack stayed in the canoe. "Hey, where are you going?"

Zawdi turned and threw the pack at him. He caught it, barely, and looked up at her. "What gives?"

"Inside." When Blackjack found the transmitter, he quickly dropped it. "Let me guess, you have no idea how it got in there?"

"Yeah, I don't!" Blackjack pleaded. "Look, I swear, I have no idea that was in there!" Looking at the enraged woman, he drew a blank. What else could he do? "So, what happens now?"

"Taking you to the capital is out of the question. Your friends, no doubt, have been following us."

"Well, can't we just go to the capital and warn them?"

She gave a grim smile. "A good idea, but I can't allow them to gain anymore ground here."

"Look, I swear, I had no idea they had a bug! Just let me go, and I'll lead them away!"

She pointed to the river. "That river only goes one way, and it goes by the Vibranium. No, you would lead them right to it." She walked over to the canoe and began to drag it towards a grove of trees.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Blackjack gripped the edges of the craft.

"I'm putting you in a sling. With that leg of yours, you aren't much use in a fight." Running ropes through some carefully placed holes in the craft, she tossed the rope over a sturdy branch and effortlessly lifted the canoe up. "Now stay here. I'm going to signal for help, which is more than likely going to alert your friends that we know. Help should arrive within the hour."

Blackjack looked down and shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry about this. Those guys are all working for Klaw. There are eight of them, and they are all armed to the teeth. Machine guns, grenades, the works" he looked over Zawadi's weapons. "You won't stand a chance with those pig-stickers"

Zawadi's wry response puzzled him. "You'd be surprised at how often people tell me that." Drawing a knife, she handed it to him. "In case they get past me and don't feel like taking you back." Blackjack blinked and she was gone.

Grumbling, he leaned back in the canoe and silently swore that he'd go straight, assuming he survived. "Bare minimum, no more jobs for hire!"

Z

The huntress in Zawadi took careful appraisal of the situation. Before her, with the river East of them and the Paradise Forest West to them, she made a note of the group. They were all military from the looks of them. She counted eight, all of them armed. Half of them were inside a tent while a guard of four surrounded them in a circle. "This is not going to be easy." The four men were stationed wide apart. "Probably to avoid shooting each other."

Drawing her bow, she notched an arrow and took aim. Rushing headlong into a fight would only get her killed. Even with her enhanced strength, she knew she couldn't block a bullet. Aiming carefully, she let the string go. The guard at the furthest point clutched his neck and pitched forward. She ducked into the woods as the men fired randomly. Only a few bullets chipped the trees around her, but it was enough. She had them rattled.

W

"What the devil is going on here?" Wilson shouted as he jumped out of the tent.

"Red just bought it!" Van Owen was almost hysterical.

Dieter, one of the few men Wilson genuinely trusted, kneeled over the corpse. "Severed both arties. He's cooked."

Wilson stared into the woods. Was that someone moving? Squinting in the fading light, he shook his head. "Break camp."

"What? But we'll be stumbling around in the dark!"

"Better to be moving target than a sitting duck." Wilson took a swig from his hip flask and spat the foul contents on Red's body. "According to the boss's gizmo our two cats are sitting pretty up stream. We can catch up to them in an hour, and then move on to the mound. Any problems?"

The rest of the men held their complaints to themselves. Unseen by them, Zawadi mentally counted her tally. "Only one, but the seven are now heading towards Blackjack. I suppose I should whittle down the numbers, just to make it fair."

W

Wilson paddled with the current as he and three of his men made their way upstream. Van Owen and the rest took all the equipment and went ahead. "We'll get that masked goofball, you get the stuff." Wilson replayed the scene in his head.

"Right, and leave everything to me." He mouthed Van Owen's words back to himself. The high-strung gunner was starting to get on his nerves. "After this job, forget it. I'm working solo!"

A sudden streak of light from around the river bend shook him out of his fantasies. "A flare? Have we been spotted?" His question was answered as they turned the bend. He loudly swore as he paddled towards the shore.

On the shoreline were the tattered remains of one of his men. The last remnant of their raft was slipping under the murky water of the river. Jumping out of the raft, he dashed towards the prone figure. "Van Owen!"

The man was already dead. His head had been neatly severed and placed near his neck. Thumbing the safety off of his machine gun, Wilson carefully looked around. Moving back to the shore, he cursed again as he saw the raft floating back out. "Dieter, what's wrong with you?" Shinning his flashlight at the raft, his blood chilled as he saw the knife handle sticking out of the taller man's chest. Flicking the light off, Wilson stepped back carefully. Turning around, he broke into a full sprint towards the woods.

B

Blackjack rubbed his palms together. He was trying to wipe them dry. "Come on, where is everyone?" He was fairly sure there was someone else there; he thought he heard movement around the base of the tree, but he wasn't sure. Gripping his knife tighter, his chest tightened when he saw the all too familiar light of a flare sailing through the air. It landed at the edge of the clearing, casting its brilliant light over everything.

"Come on out!" Wilson's voice rang out in the night. A short burst of bullets accented his challenge.

Blackjack stretched out and pressed himself against the bottom of the canoe. Gripping the knife even tighter, he felt his pulse race faster as a short volley of fire sent splinters raining down on his stomach. As Wilson drew closer, he suddenly sat up and threw the knife at the sound. Wilson's short scream rang out and then the entire jungle seemed stilled.

Z

A few moments before

Zawadi crawled through the bush as she neared the target. Her flare had alerted the Black Panther in time as she found them moping up the rest of the hired guns. Her grim smile at the sight told the Panther volumes as she pointed out Wilson. With the rest of the group hidden, she slowly rose to a crouch as the mercenary fired wildly into the trees. She briefly worried about Blackjack, but quickly banished the thought. "All business now."

Picking up a stone, she tossed it into the woods. As Wilson fired at the sound, she stood up and let her spear fly. It pierced the man's side with a heavy wet thud. She was on him in a second.

Quickly knocking the machine gun from his hands, she wrapped her arm around his neck and applied what was commonly known around the world as a 'head lock'. With one firm twist the man's struggles ceased. Dragging the body away, she signaled the Black Panther.

As the body was taken away, she noticed a glint of metal in the dying light of the flare. "One of my knives, but how did it get over here?" Picking it up, she made her way over to the tree holding Blackjack.

B

"Hello?"

"Finally!" Blackjack raised his head. "You back?"

"Glad to see you are still among the living." She quickly started a fire with some handy flint.

"Name's Zawadi, by the way." She stretched out as the fire grew. "Tell me, there were eight men with you, correct?"

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, I told you that. Why?"

"Just wondering." She mentally added up the men she fought. Eight, so the stranger wasn't lying about that. The rustling of the grass made her turn around, but at the sight of the Black Panther and his men she relaxed.

"Who're they?" Blackjack started to panic, but Zawadi held up her hand.

"The law of this land." Pulling her spear free from Wilson's body, she pointed to Blackjack and spoke in Wakandan. "Uncle, this one was with them, but he seemed unaware of Klaw."

"I see," The Black Panther shook his head. "Although that hardly excuses his trespassing. You caught him Zawadi, what do you suggest we do?"

She glanced back at the wounded man as he was lowered down and carried out of the canoe. "Killing him would serve no great purpose. He mentioned he was a criminal in his homeland, but sending him back might expose our secrets to the outside. He also might be able to lead us to Klaw."

"You have a point, but don't forget, he did enter our lands with the intention of theft, and I doubt Klaw would allow himself to be tied to him or those other men."

"Then he should be punished accordingly. Take him before the council; I would suggest some lenience." Gathering her weapons and equipment, she was stopped by the Panther.

"Where are you going now?"

"Home. After that, where ever fate takes me."

"Back to the hunt?"

She dropped the canoe into the water. "Perhaps. It still holds a place in my heart, but Uncle, I fear the time is coming that Wakanda will no longer be hidden from the outside world."

"True, but we can still protect it until they catch up with us."

She turned and looked at the older man. "Uncle, brainwashing isn't the long term answer. People are going to find out. Would you have us hidden away for all time? The world must know of us eventually."

"This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion." He turned and walked back to the waiting men.

"Uncle, at least promise me we will talk about this."

"Very well." The Panther walked past her and oversaw his men loading Blackjack onto the back of a new air-sled. Once loaded, they took off towards the capital while Zawdi stayed behind. The Black Panther turned to his second once they were far enough away. "Radio ahead and tell the doctors to prepare another cleaning. This man can not retain his memory of this land."

"But what of Zawadi?"

"She is family, but even she knows we can't allow outsiders to retain knowledge of our interior. Wipe his memory of that, then deport him back to America."

"Understood sir."

Z

Zawadi contemplated her words as she let the current take her towards the capital. "Wakanda has to change, I know it. But can T'Challa do it, or will we be forced to cut off the outside entirely?" She began to paddle. "Perhaps I could stay here." She looked down at her weapons and focused on the unused pistol. "No, even here I would grow bored. Change comes to us all. I'll have to adapt along with the rest of the land."

"Just not today." She emptied the chambers, and briefly thought about throwing the gun overboard, but finally dropped it back in the canoe. There would be time for change later. Right now she was young and free, and she planned on enjoying the first two states for as long as possible.

BJ

In the back of the sled, Blackjack had little inkling of what had been said. He felt light, almost dizzy as the strange craft raced towards the capital. "Forget the jungle! No more jobs outside the US of A for me." He had to smile as an intense sleepiness overcame him. "Maybe this was all a dream, and I'll wake up back in my cell." He chuckled as he drifted off to sleep. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

The end

Amazing Letters

This tale was wholly original. The character of Zawadi was created by Roger Stern and Mike Manley and appeared in Marvel Universe. The character of Blackjack was created by John Byrne for Marvel: The Lost Generation. All characters and concepts appearing in this tale are owned by Marvel Comics, all rights reserved.

And now the letters!

From They Call Me Bruce

_Great. So you're going to be making this a series instead of one shots?_

Well, not so much a series, but rather collected in place, so yeah.

From Tiffani

_Great story Cambot. Sorry this isn't longer, but I'm sick and have to get to bed._

Not a problem, and I hope none of my stories were the cause of your illness.

Next issue, be sure to swing by again as we move ahead (and back) to a story that will reach out from the ancient days of Briton to the far flung world of the 21st Century. Be here for "Trinity"!

And for upcoming works:

Sensational Comics#12-Long Dark Night of the Soul

Tales to Astonish#11-The Terrible Traps of Egghead!

Journey Into Mystery#13-The Demon Duplicators


	3. Trinity

Marada the She-Wolf, Misty Knight, Mint Julep

A Mighty Tale Told in the Mighty Marvel Manner!

Trinity

Part One: Veils of the Past

Back in days of old, when the grip of the Caesars stretched to the farthest reaches of the known world and Atlantis had not yet been banished from the minds of men, walked a woman. Her given name was Marada, but to friends and foes alike she was the She-Wolf. Her mother could trace her blood back through the mighty Caesars and her father had a bloodline that could be traced back to the very gods of old.

She grew up with one keen lesson always in her mind. "Trust no one." That lesson was burned into her eyes when she spied her father dying on the rack, a slave in a strange country. Her mother dying cut off Marada from the rest of the world. Striking on her own, she moved ever northward, fighting and learning from the ancient tribes.

As it happened, one cool night in spring, Marada found herself in a tavern situated deep within the wilds of Briton. Her band of warriors had commandeered it after a successful ride of the Silk Road. Protecting a caravan from bandits was wasted work for one of her talents, but it did put gold in her purse and food in her stomach.

The tavern keeper was quite happy to ply her men with roasted game and ale. He had been accustomed to dealing with mercenaries and knew the sooner they passed out, the sooner he could get rid of them. As herself, Marada drank slowly. Many hours and flagons later, she found herself sitting in a corner with a new cup of wine in her hand. A hooded man sat across from her (How long had he been there?). His face was largely obscured, but his skin and hair suggested someone of warmer climates. "Pardon?"

"I said, drink up noble warrior, drink up!" the man urged her. "That is most expensive wine, and I doubt our host would care to see it wasted."

"Excellent point!" Marada boasted as she downed the contents in one gulp. No sooner had the red liquid hit her throat then her eyes began to close. "What?" Her speech was slurred and her limbs heavy. She tried to stand up and draw her sword, but all she managed to do was drop the glass into her lap.

Several of her warriors roared with laughter as she drunkenly fell to the floor. The man slid out of the booth and dragged her towards the door. "Fear not, she has just celebrated too much. A good night sleep and she'll be like new!" The man's smooth voice and clammy hands sparked off a panic in her mind.

"No, blast it!" She tried to scream, but her mouth hung slackly. She felt herself being loaded into a cart, her eyes locked open on the night sky. "I have to escape, but how?" She cursed herself for an amateur. She was unaware of how far they traveled, but the moon was still in the sky when the man dragged her from the cart.

"Forgive the manner of which you were brought here, but my masters wished you summoned quickly." The man chanted in a tongue that sounded vaguely familiar. He smeared a thick black liquid over her face and neck. Her skin burned where it touched.

"My masters are most pleased to meet you, but I fear I must serve them something else instead." The man continued to chant. Marada felt a sudden pressure inside her head. The pain grew more the man chanted. When it seemed that her head would split open, the pain suddenly stopped.

Before Marada was a woman that looked exactly like her. "Forgive this inconvenience, but while my masters would have use of you, my need is much more pressing." The man pressed his fingers to her temples. Before she could utter a sound she passed out.

*

Marada was unaware of how long she had been asleep. Her eyes, when they finally opened, saw nothing to tell her where she was. She was chained to a stone chair. On the floor around her was a bloody pentagram and archaic symbols. The same symbols were etched onto the stone walls around her. There was neither a door nor windows.

"Good to see you awake!" The hooded man laughed as he walked around to face her.

"Fiend!" She spat. "I'll make you regret this!"

"Doubtful." The man doffed his hood. His skin was stretched and his head bald. "My master, the mighty Y-Garon, is presently enjoying your double, but even his unholy senses can't be fooled forever."

"You speak of magic and demons. What would have of me? A sacrifice?"

"In a sense. You see, Marada, you are special. I need the blood of one such as you to open a doorway."

"A doorway to what?"

The man smiled cruelly. "Would you tell a corpse where it would be buried? All that matters is that the name of Simyon Karashnur will outlast even the Old Ones. With you, one phase is complete." He reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out a gleaming bronze dagger. He began to chant and pray as he held the blade high over head.

New York City- March 15, 1978

"Damn!" Misty Knight swore loudly and elegantly. Doing a stakeout had never been her idea of fun, even as a policewoman, but the time ticking away made her irritable. She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel. There was always some numbness in her right hand, a reminder of why she left the force. She had checked and rechecked her gun a dozen times by now. She finished all the crosswords she had brought. She was still on edge.

Her partner, Colleen Wing, had gone missing twelve hours ago.

The job was a typical wait-and-sit kind of thing. Over a dozen young women had gone missing from the streets. All them typical; homeless, runaways, junkies; the kind the police never got worked up about finding. The father of one of the girls happened to be an old friend of Colleen's father and that was how she found herself sitting in a parked car in a darkened side street.

The skinny on the street had been promising. Nearly every woman had been seen in the company of a street guru called 'Simon the K', a charming hustler. Misty found plenty of info on the man, but nothing really told her anything about it. Birth date, social security number, all that jazz, but no police record, school record; it was like the man had been born then dropped off the face of the Earth for thirty years.

Colleen found the man preaching on the street corner deep within the Bowery. His hair was teased up like a fright wig and his eyes were hidden behind thick dark shades. Misty had been spying from a rooftop nearly a block away. The man sought out Colleen and chatted her up, but while he was talking, Misty could swear he was looking straight at her.

A large of flower children suddenly surrounded them. Misty drew her gun and took the fire escape stairs two at a time. By the time she made it to the corner there was no trace. Lying in the gutter was a small business card. "A trap?"

They only thing printed on was an address, something that took her several blocks over to what was once a church. The stain glass windows were boarded up and the 'condemned' notices were all tattered. Going to the cops would take time, likewise with Danny and Luke.

Stepping out of her car, she checked her magnum again and set off towards the rear of the building. The door was padlocked with a shiny new lock, but one squeeze from her bionic hand reduced it to pulp. Slipping inside, the stench of unwashed bodies and decay almost made her gag.

"Greetings!" Lights suddenly came up, blinding her. Simon the K's melodious spoke from the pulpit. Once her eyes adjusted, Misty drew a bead on the man's head. "Put away your weapon of harshness mama, we all have enough love to last."

"Where's my partner?" Misty cocked the hammer. The crowd shifted and slowly started towards the door, ignoring her.

"Ms. Wing is safe and sound. As we speak she is being dumped back your offices no worse for wear." Simon stepped off the stage and moved towards her.

"Get back creep!" Misty felt a pang of fear. Why was this guy so calm?

"Ms. Knight, I have waited ages for a woman of your caliber." Faster than she could blink Simon snatched her gun out of her hand. "It pleases me to say that you will be a rather vital part in a experience that has been centuries in the making."

She tried to swing at him, but the walls seemed to be melting around her. "A little cocktail of my own making. Don't fight it my dear, just ride out the ju-ju."

Gettysburg, early spring, 2022

"What is this place?"

Mint Julep gulped down the few remaining drops of clean water from her canteen. "A battlefield, I think." Mint brushed a strand of her white hair out of her eyes.

Mint stood up and stepped out of the shade. Her pale green skin showed the signs of open travel and her white hair was almost brown from the dust. "Break's over ladies. We have a job to do."

Mint inwardly sighed. Before her were the last remains of the Freewomen: a paltry six women. She wished she could blame the Martians, those were foes she was used to, but now things were different.

For the past week something had been picking off her troops. At first she suspected one of her old enemies or maybe some hotshot bounty killer, but it didn't add up. There would be no signs of struggle, no signs of anything really. It was like something had reached down from the sky and plucked them away.

Being part plant, Mint didn't tire as easily as flesh and she certainly didn't need to eat. She had to remind herself of those facts more and more lately. "Cass, did you find anything?"

Cass, a scarred former gladiator, shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing."

"Cel?"

The raven-haired swordswoman stepped forward. "I found some tracks, but it doesn't look right."

Mint trusted the tracker's judgment. "What do you mean?"

"For two weeks, nothing. Not a single trace-now we have tracks so obvious a blind cyborg could see."

"A trap?" Cass cast an eye on the surrounding area. The Martians turned the land to a waste when they landed back in the early days of the century. Their damnable red vines creped up and overtook all the native vegetation, leaving everything red and dusty.

"Looks like it." Mint drew her gun. It had been a special custom-made piece. The former owner had no further use for it in the Martian slave pits. She checked her ammo. The razor sharp discs were oiled and ready. "Freewomen, listen up. We've had some times, but this job I'm going in alone."

She silenced the protests with a glare. "We've lost so many already. If we all go, then our mission goes with us. If I don't make it back by sunrise," She found herself getting choked on her words. "Then I want you head to the North. Killraven and his Freemen are still fighting and they could use the help."

Taking an extra blade from Cass, she nodded and left the last of the Freewomen to contemplate their fates while she headed off into the dense red underbrush. Her green skin stood out among the clingy red vines.

Several hours later

Cass was right; the trail was easy to follow. A clear path had been hacked through the red vines towards a small set of ruins. The ground around her had long since been overcome with the red vegetation and regressed into a foul marsh. Large pools of murky water stretched out as far as she could see, with small white stones barely breaking the surface every few feet. Slipping her gun back into her holster, she spied a small wall. Finding some handholds, she easily climbed it and looked over into the area below.

Before her was a small building. A rusted sign with the words 'ADM' creaked slowly in the feint breeze. The windows had long since been broken and the front door was missing. Fresh footprints in the dirt began at a closed gate and went in through the front door. "Looks easy, too easy."

Flipping over the wall, Mint landed in a crouch and drew her gun. There was no sound. Carefully moving towards the wall, she put her back to it and readied herself. Spinning around, she entered the ruin, expecting to find anything.

"Hello." A smooth voice spoke from behind a mass of gathered stones. She squeezed her trigger. A silvery disk whizzed from the barrel. It ricocheted off the stones and embedded itself in something soft. The voice didn't seem to be bothered.

"If I still had flesh there I might have been bothered." She saw a silhouette on the wall rise. The speaker stepped out from behind the stones and walked into the fading light. "You must be the infamous Mint Julep."

She kept her gun trained on the man. His skin was mostly organic, but she could see lances of metal interwoven with his dark flesh. He was dressed in the blood-splattered remains of a hunter's uniform, but there was a sense that it wasn't his. Mint played it cool. She had seen the results of going ahead without knowing vital information. "I am."

The man smiled. "You may address me as Lord Kara, although I fear the title is more ceremonial than practical at this point." His teeth were gloriously white and capped.

"Where are my women?" Her hand never wavered.

"Alive and in the basement of this office building." He showed no surprise at her weapon. "I have a reprogrammed stalker waiting to cut their bonds and escort them back to your main party."

She drew a bead on his face. "Alright, my troops are safe, but why did you take them in the first place?"

Kara laughed. "Simply my dear, I want you."

Her face hardened. "So, the Martians sent another hunter after me, eh?"

Kara's smile never left his face. "Martians? No my dear, I am working under no banner save my own."

Mint was confused. "What? If you're not interested in turning me in, then why are you here?"

"As I said, I want you." Kara reached out with a hand. Mint felt a slight tugging in her fingers before her gun flew from her hand into his. Being of a fighting stock, her sword was in her hand before Kara had closed his fingers around the barrel. She plunged the blade deep into his chest. Kara laughed louder.

"Really? I, who have seen oceans rise and vanish, would be killed by a crude piece of metal?" He casually stepped aside and swatted her with her own gun. Mint reeled back. "Relax my child. What I want will not take long. I've timed this too well, waited too long."

"What are you talking about?" Mint rose to her feet, but Kara pulled her sword out and slammed it hilt first into her temple.

"The new destiny of the world."

Briton-the past

"I suppose expecting your gratitude would be asking far too much." Simyon kneeled before her. He had in one the dagger and in another a lock of her hair.

"When I escape," Marada's voice was even, "I will personally send you to Hell with my bare hands."

"Actually, most of my visions show it being an axe." Simyon dipped his fingers and the hair into a small bowl and wrote several mystic shapes upon the floor. "My master Y'Garon might be discovering my treachery at the moment, so we must hurry."

"Wizards." Marada spat. "You think me a fit sacrifice for some dark god?"

Simyon looked up from his hellish task. "A sacrifice? No my child, you are more…a component. A key, if you will."

Simyon began to chant and consulate on the floor. Unseen in his thrashings, Marada strained against the ropes. She was still weak, and the ropes were too strong. She could move, though, as her captor saw fit to bind her hands and wrists, but not to secure the ropes to her chair. When the man's chanting was reaching a fever pitch, she leapt from the chair and fell upon him.

"No, what are you doing?" The wizard shrieked with an unnatural fear in his voice. The walls around them began to bleed. The ceiling and floor seemed to switch positions and move in an obscene manner all their own.

New York City-the present

Misty came to with a start. "Merely a pleasant aftereffect." Simon the K smiled as he loomed over her. She was handcuffed to an old four-poster bed, her gun empty and useless several feet away.

"Alright creep, what's your game?" Misty tried to control her voice. Her anger was building, but she knew she had to stay calm and focused.

"Game? Yes, I suppose this has been one long game Ms. Knight." Simon bent down and flicked open a switchblade. Misty didn't flinch, to her credit, but her anger turned to confusion as Simon sliced off a part of her afro.

"That's it? You lured me here to give me a bad haircut?" Misty joked as Simon took the hair and dipped it into a small saucer filled with a dark liquid.

"No, but I did need something personal." He dabbed the foul smelling stuff on her face and hands. Misty's anger returned as he traced a line from her lower lip to the top of her breasts.

"Ok buddy, I've had enough of this!" Twisting her right hand, she crushed the cuff's chain. Hitting Simon squarely in the jaw, she knocked him to the floor. Easily snapping the rest of the restraints, she shakily rose to her feet. "Come on sucker, let's see how well you do in a fair fight!"

Simon suddenly let out a scream that made Misty step back. The man began to flop around like a dead flounder. She was tempted to run, but her lightheadedness returned in force. "Lousy pusher, what did you shoot me with?" She fell down onto the bed again as the lights exploded into fiery kaleidoscopes of color. The bedsprings howled into ancient tongues as the roof folded up and Misty could see everything that had gone on before in all of human history. Her eyes watered at the sight.

Gettysburg-the future

Mint blinked her eyes. Despite her form, she was not fully human, and Kara's blow had only stunned her. She spied the man hunched over a worktable. "What are you doing?'

"Preparing a special scene." A dark look clouded his features. "Wait, something is amiss. I" His words were lost as the floor vanished in a blaze of hellish light. "No, no! What could have happened?" Kara shrieked and rushed towards her. Mint fought against the metal cuffs that bound her hands.

"Whatever is going on, I'm grateful." Mint swung her arms over her head and slammed her fists into Kara's face. She tried to run towards the steps that lead out of the room, but once she stepped onto the lighted portion of the floor she was lost in a blinding stream of pure time.

New York City-the present

Misty coughed, trying to dislodge the dust and grim that had taken residence in her lungs. She was alone. The ceiling had partially collapsed, covering everything in splinters and bits of debris. Her head clearing, she moved to collect her gun when she heard a moan coming from behind a set of ruined pews.

She snatched her weapon up and quickly reloaded it. Cocking it, held it at the ready as she moved closer to the sound. "Ok pal, I've had just about enough of this bull-" Her words trailed off when she saw who was making the noise.

It obviously wasn't Simon the K. Misty lowered her gun. "A woman?" She hadn't seen any white women with Simon's group, lest of all ones with white hair. She touched the woman's side to check for injuries. Her hand brushed against the tunic and she recoiled. "Leather? What kind of freaky junk was going on here?"

The woman's eyes snapped open. She let out a long string of what Misty assumed where profanities and scrambled to her feet. She was jabbering in a tongue Misty didn't know. "Hold on!" Misty held up her hands. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just want answers."

She hoped her even tone helped. The woman backed away. There was something in her eyes, though, that suggested she wasn't afraid. Misty felt like she was being sized up. The woman spoke again, but Misty couldn't understand her.

~M

"I said, who the devil are you and why am I here?" Marada spoke slowly and clearly. The woman tapped her ear. "Deaf?" Marada sighed in frustration. "Bah, must I be surrounded by the weak?" She pushed past Misty and headed toward the door. "When I get my hands on that rotten wizard I'll wring his neck!" Her list of tortures died in her throat as she flung open the door and stared into the cool night of New York City, 1978 A.D.

~MK

Misty stood silently as the woman spat and raved. She was tempted to let her go, but the fact that she was speaking in a foreign language told her that maybe something funny was going on. "Excuse me," She tried speaking in French, German, and Spanish, but the woman ignored her. "Hey!" When the woman opened the door, Misty expected her to run, but she just stood there.

"Are you ok?" Stepped closer, she thought she heard the woman sob. Looking at her from the side, she saw a tear running down her face. The woman brushed it aside and looked at her. She roughly grabbed the front of her shirt and pointed to the skyline. Her words were becoming garbled as she spoke faster and faster. "Slow down, I can't understand!" Misty tried to be cool, but when the woman poked her hard in the chest, Misty poked back with her cybernetic hand and knocked her down. "Now look sister, you've been through something, I understand that. But you do that again and I'll make you regret it, dig?"

~M

Marada blinked. She found herself on the floor. The woman had hit her. She figured from her size such a blow would be glancing, but it felt like a bull had kicked her. "Who are you?" Marada spoke in all the tongues she knew. The other woman looked puzzled. Helping herself to her feet, Marada tapped her breast. "Marada" The woman beamed and repeated. "Alright, you understand me. Now, where am I?" She pointed to the poorly lit street.

The woman spoke slowly and pointed to herself. "Misty." Pointing to the outside, she drew out every syllable. "New York City." Slowly moving outside, she gestured to Marada to follow her.

Meanwhile, at Studio 54

Inside the ladies room at the most exclusive disco in all of New York, things were business as usual. A sudden and small explosion sent a small tremor through the building, but few felt it. One of the stall doors dropped off as a result, though, leaving a smoking and bewildered Mint Julep stumbling into the open.

Confused, she ran headlong into a woman presently bent over the sink. Her bump caused the woman to sneeze, sending a small cloud of white powder up and into various places. "Hey, watch it!" the woman swore as Mint moved towards the exit.

The woman's irritation grew as the green skinned woman ignored her outburst and reached for the door handle. "You think can just walk away? That blow cost me half a grand!" She reached out and roughly grabbed Mint's long white hair.

She immediately regretted that decision when she found a rather large gun barrel being shoved into her jaw. She quietly released the hair and stepped back. "My mistake, sorry." Mint snorted with disgust and left.

"Geeze Jerry, you sure know how to pick them!" Her brunette companion rubbed her nose and chuckled. Jerry spat at the closed door in response.

"Lousy Trekkers!"

*

Mint found herself covering both her ears and eyes. The music was blaring, drowning out everything. The lights blazed, burning her eyes. The people around her were dressed in bizarre clothing, gyrating and moving in synch to the noise. She tried to find an exit, but found herself being pushed closer towards the giant speakers that took up a corner.

"Enough of this!" She roared. Drawing her gun, she fired off a round. The deadly metal disk screamed through the air and struck the speaker dead center. It smoked and crackled before dying.

The crowd stopped their dancing and looked at the new comer with some part bemusement, other parts horror. "Hey, what gives?" Men were approaching. From their dark shirts she took them to be enforcers of some kind. Deciding to retreat until she knew more of what was going on, she muscled her way through the startled onlookers and dashed into the kitchen.

Moving past a startled staff, she kicked open the first door she saw and found herself in an alley. Moving quickly, she lost herself among the crowds. When she was a good block away, she ducked into another alley and got her bearings. The images of the tall buildings around suddenly struck her. "Where am I?"

Part Two: Perils in the Present

Misty and Marada made their way back to Misty's Cadillac. Marada eyed the city streets with a mixture of distain and awe as she took in the sounds and smells of the city. Misty opened up the passenger door before hoping in. "Come on." She gestured. Marada raised an eyebrow at the car's interior, but slowly climbed inside.

Marada jumped when she started the car. "Easy, it's just the engine." Misty put it drive and roared away from the curb. Marada was white knuckling the dashboard, but she didn't have the time to explain every little thing. "That freak said Colleen was ok. I have to check up on her, then I'll worry about miss sword and sandals over here."

~M

Marada stared in wide-eyed amazement as they raced down the city streets. "What kind of magic is this? Where are your horses for this chariot?" She felt calmer the more she took in. "Obvious she knows what she is doing; this thing must be some form of machine. I wonder what else this strange land has to offer?"

~MK

Misty pulled into the underground parking garage. Getting out, she opened Marada's door and pointed towards the service elevator. "Come on; this is New York, but even that get up is going to raise some questions."

Misty tensed up when the elevator doors closed. She though Marada might have some kind of attack, but she handled the ride better than she thought she could. Stepping out, Misty was relieved to see no one in the hallway. "Follow me." They turned right and walked down a plush carpeted hall towards a set of glass double doors with the words 'Nightwing Restorations, Ltd.' stenciled in black.

Seeing the lights on in the office, Misty stepped in front of Marada and drew her gun. Carefully opening the door, she lowered the weapon when she saw the figure reclining on the sofa. "Colleen!"

"Misty? Is that you?" An older voice asked from deeper in the office. Professor Lee Wing stepped out into the open. In his hands was a small tray with bandages and medicine. "What in Grace's name happened? And who is that behind you?"

"It's a long story. How's Colleen?"

"Asleep. She was dropped here by some flower children barely a half hour ago. She just nodded off a few minutes. She was quite concerned about you, in fact, I was just getting ready to call the police when you showed up."

Misty stepped aside and pointed. "Professor, this is Marada, and I think we need some help."

*

Misty sighed as she stepped out of the shower. "Nothing like some hot water to scrub the lower east side off of a gal." Drying off, she slipped on a fresh shirt and a faded pair of jeans. "I wonder how Marada is doing?"

She walked past the spare office where they had put Colleen. Her partner seemed ok. She was confused and tired more than anything. Misty just let her sleep. Nearing the back office, she heard two voices in an animated conversation.

Opening the door, she found Professor Wing listening in rapt attention to Marada. She stopped when she noticed Misty in the doorway. "Oh, Misty, hello." Wing turned from Marada and stood up. "Misty, this is the most remarkable young woman."

"I gathered, but who is she?"

"From what I can tell, Marada. She seems to be British. From her language and attire I'd guess the tenth century at the latest."

Misty's eyebrows shot up in unison. "What?"

"I know, I know. I'm kicking myself for not studying more Old English, but her Latin is fair. She's confused about how she arrived here, but she seems to be handling this time period well enough."

"Well that's swell, but how do I go about sending her back?"

Wing blushed. "That…I have no idea."

"Can't you call someone?"

Wing drew himself to his full height and huffed. "Who? I doubt very seriously Reed Richards is going to take a phone call from a lowly Eastern history and culture professor."

Misty watched as Marada flipped on the intercom. The white-haired warrior's reaction did little to ease her concern. "So what do we do now?"

~MJ

Mint walked carefully through the crowded streets. "So many people!" She gazed in wonder at the billboards of Time Square. "Is this what the Earth used to be?" The noise of passing taxis made her jump. "Alright, I've gone back in time before the Martians landed, that's obvious. But what do I do about it?"

She slipped away from the noise and walked through a back alley. "Warn someone? Who'd believe me?" A tinkling of broken glass made her pause.

"Hey, if it ain't the Hulk's little sister!" A chorus of catcalls echoed from a fire escape above her. An unshaven youth stepped out from behind a foul smelling dumpster. "Lonely little mama?" He grinned broadly.

"Not for your company, no." Mint dropped into a fighter's stance. The movement caused the younger man to giggle.

"Oh, little kitty going to kung fu me?" He whipped out switchblade.

"Kung fu? Never heard of it." She got the draw on him and fired. The disk flew freely through the air and sliced cleanly through his shoulder. The would-be mugger dropped the knife and howled in agony before he stumbled away.

"The chick's packing!" One of the men above her yelled; She heard a flurry of footsteps moving up and away.

"Nice to know some things don't change." Mint holstered her gun and kept moving.

Part Three: Time Keeps Slipping

Marada had spent the night on a sofa. Misty had seen Colleen to the hospital (she had been checked out in an hour) and was in the middle of opening the office when she heard a crash. "Damn." Drawing her gun, she forced her way inside, only to see Marada standing over the smashed remains of the television set. "We are going to have to work on that temper of yours."

Despite Professor Wing's sarcasm, a meeting was arranged with Reed Richards. Misty had to call in some favors, but Richards's people said he would be sending someone over within the hour.

A knocking at the window made her jump. They were several stories up, but she knew to be careful. When she spied the closed hand gently knocking on the window she relaxed. Stepping into view, she saw that it was none other than Reed Richards himself. He was sitting in the Fantasticar and extending his arm to impossible lengths. She gestured towards the roof.

"How is Marada going to handle this?"

~MJ

Mint opened her eyes. She had found relatively secure place to sleep on a fire escape. She stood up and stretched in the morning light. "Ah, that hits the spot!" She cheerfully soaked up the sun's rays like a human would down coffee. "Now then, where am I going?"

Hopping down, she watched carefully from the confines of the alleyway. "No doubt, I am going to stick out in a crowd." She glanced her green flesh over. Spying a tattered coat half stuffed in a trashcan, she carefully pulled it out and slipped it on. "Disgusting, but at least it can give me some cover."

Making her way into the teaming streets, she started to walk with the flow of traffic. "Killraven spoke of this as the time of heroes. Surely one of them might know how to send me home."

"Excuse me, where are the heroes in this city?" Stepping in front of well-dressed man, she was answered by him shoving her aside.

Trying a different tactic, she approached a middle-aged woman lugging several parcels. "Hello, do you know where the heroes are?"

"Get a job you bum!" The woman spat on Mint's boots.

Mint stepped back. "Ok, not getting many results." Eyeing a phone booth, she ducked into it. "I've seen the remains of these things before. Tel-something, I think." Seeing the large book chained to a bar under the phone, she lifted the book up. "Maybe some information?"

Flipping through the pages, she grew disgusted when she found most of them had been torn out. Her frustration grew as she found she couldn't read the print. "Blast, this book is almost a hundred years old, of course the language is going to be different!" Throwing it down in disgust, she weighed her options. "Maybe I could use this device, but how?"

Opening the booth's door, she reached out and wrapped her arm around a passing man's neck. "Tell me how to use this!" The man, a well dressed gentleman with a suit and hat, panicked.

"What are you, crazy?"

"Tell me!" She tightened her grip.

"Put your change in and dial the number!" She released him.

"Change? I don't have any."

"Help, police!" The man darted down the street. Mint sighed in frustration. Leaving the phone booth, she picked up the hat the man left and put it on.

"This should help cover me up, but what do I do now?"

Looking up in the sky, she spied a something that almost made her panic. A flying ship passed by overhead. For a second she thought it was a passing Martian skycraft, but she calmed herself down. "No, they haven't landed yet, they can't be here."

Hearing a commotion behind her, and seeing the ship flying off before her, Mint chose the latter as a better option. "It can't be much worse than staying here!"

~MK

To Marada's credit, she wasn't as panicked by the Fantasticar as much as Misty feared. Flying back towards the Baxter Building, Misty tried to chat over the rushing wind, but gave up after three blocks. Marada sat in rapt attention at the city below her and occasionally moved her lips, but Misty was unable to make out what she said.

Arriving at the famed skyscraper headquarters of the Fantastic Four, Misty had to admit she was impressed. Mr. Fantastic landed smoothly on the rooftop and all three of them took an express elevator down his personal lab. "So, Ms. Knight, how exactly did you meet your friend?"

She told of her tracking down the guru Simon the K, his disappearance and Marada's arrival. He was stoic throughout the tale, only occasionally breaking in with a question. When she had finished, he rubbed his chin. "Amazing. It sounds like something tore a hole in the fabric of space and time, dumping this woman here. I picked up some unusual readings in the quantum regulator last night around the time you described."

"So you know where Marada came from?"

Richards picked up a pile of figures. "That's not all. From what you have told me, there may be someone else running around."

Misty's jaw dropped. "What? But where?"

"I'm not sure. From this reading," he pointed to a diagram of wavy lines, "another hole was opened up in the city. From the police reports, a green skinned woman suddenly broke into a disco around the same time this event happened and in the same area as well. The data suggests that this woman, whomever she may be, might be another time traveler."

Putting the paper down, he walked over to Marada. "Fascinating, a woman from Ancient Briton!" Marada snapped at him, causing him to converse in her language for several minutes.

"You can understand her?"

He turned his head around to meet her. "Hmm? Oh, sorry I should have explained. Yes, I learned most ancient languages of Northern Europe only recently however, but from what I could translate she said her name is Marada. She was leading a band of mercenaries in England when a sorcerer named Simyon waylaid her. He was about to sacrifice her for some reason when the sky opened up and dropped her. That's all she knows." He held up a small metal band. "This translatinor will allow you to understand her." He handed it to Marada.

"Doctor Richards!"

A voice squawked over the intercom. Richards remained rooted to the spot, but stretched his head and a hand over to the wall-mounted unit. "Yes Roberta?"

"Sir, we have a situation number 6 in the front lobby."

"I see." Richards' brow furrowed. "Status?"

"Green"

"Then wait until I have arrived before alerting the authorities."

Misty's curiosity was growing by the minute. "What's going on?"

"We have an armed intruder."

~MJ

Several minutes before

Mint had followed the flying craft until it had landed on the roof of a tall building. Dodging the traffic, Mint jumped and flipped through the air, leaping over a parked taxi and rolling neatly to safety. Standing up, she ignored the stares she was gathering and strolled through the front doors and into the lobby.

"Can I help you?" A shorter red haired woman asked. She was sitting down at a desk, but Mint's nerves were edgy. The woman's tone was even but her hands were nowhere in sight. Two things combined that rarely equaled anything positive.

"I need some help." Mint's hand drifted towards her gun. The woman's eyes followed her intently. Sensing a trap, Mint went for her weapon, but she was instantly engulfed in sticky foam. The foam hardened around her, binding her arms to her side.

A man in a blue uniform appeared out of an elevator and walked towards her. "Excuse me miss, " he took a small spray gun out of his pocket and dissolved the foam around her mouth, "but you are not from this time period, are you?"

Mint was dumbstruck. "How did you know?"

"Follow me upstairs and we'll talk."

~S

Simon, regardless of what his name was, was in agony. Past, present, and future had been in perfect synch, yet somehow everything went wrong. He had been sucked into the great vortex of time, an ageless limbo where all things were at once. He had drifted endlessly, reliving his life and eventually death dozens of times. He witnessed his master's fate, but it gave him cold comfort. "I must escape, but how?"

Centuries or seconds passed and he found himself in the middle of Times Square. He was dressed in his robes, the same he wore when he was known as Simyon. His actions, of what was and what would be again, played out simultaneously before him. A mad laugh escaped his lips. "I can alter it all!" He rushed forward into the upcoming lane of traffic. Throwing his hands up, he chanted words that had been blasphemous before man had discovered fire.

The taxi that was barreling down on him suddenly stopped and melted. In its place was a horse drawn cart. All around him vehicles suddenly turned into carriages and flying contraptions. People found themselves dressed in rags or fabric not yet invented. The sky burned red and yellow as time began to reshape itself.

~M

"What was that?" Marada looked outside the window. Off in the distance she spied the sky changing color.

"So you're from the future?" Reed was deep in thought as Mint spoke. Her words of a Martian invasion, based on what was to him a fictional story, seemed impossible, but then he was quick to believe in such matters.

Reed was brought back to the present when Marada suddenly yanked on his arm. "Wizard, tell me, what manner of magic is that?"

Everyone in the room rushed to the nearest window. The pillar of black fire that erupted from the sky struck everyone silent. Lighting danced off of the rooftops as woodlands and ruins sprang up around the city.

Part Four: Time Enough at Last

While Reed was on the phone with both the rest of his team and the Avengers, Misty was busy in her own right. "Ok, so what do you know about this guy?"

"Only bits and pieces." Marada stared at the carnage outside. "His name is not known to me personally, but I have heard dark whisperings of his masters."

"Ok, what about you?"

Mint shook her head. "Even less. From his uniform I would have guessed a collaborator, maybe a mutant, but I never would have guessed he had this kind of power."

"Looks like nobody else did either." Misty scowled. "Could either of you hurt him?"

Marada grinned fiercely. "Aye, just give me good sword and I'll separate that magician's head from his shoulders."

Misty nodded. "Ok, so we work our way to the square and see if we can put him out of business."

"What about him?" Mint pointed to Reed, who was busy stretching himself over the lab trying to relay information to different people.

She shook her head. "Leave him for right now. If we don't act soon, there won't be a future or a present for any of us."

~M

Marada stopped in the hallway as they left. Opening up an emergency case, she took out a fire ax. "Poor heft, but it will do. What of you two?"

Misty checked her gun. "Six rounds with extras, but a few other surprises."

Mint patted her hip. "Five shots left, but I only need one."

"Good." Marada stepped in front. "Have any of you ever dealt with dark magic before?"

"I've seen some pretty freaky stuff before, but I'm not sure I would call it magic." Misty reflected on her past encounters with the X-Men and the occasional meeting with Spider-Man.

"Magic?" Mint raised an eyebrow. "Never heard of it."

"Then stay behind me." She stepped into the elevator. "Make this thing work. We have many to send to Hell today and I won't denied because of an infernal box."

Misty almost did a double take. "I think I liked her better when she was silent."

All three of them made their way down to the street with little difficultly. Once in the lobby, however, they saw their first problem. The streets were filled with panicking people. Giant mutant rats devoured horses that were once Fords. The sky buzzed with angry parking meters. "What the hell is going on?" Misty wasn't sure who said it, but she agreed with the statement.

"Hell is coming here." Marada snapped off chair leg and quickly fashioned a makeshift spear with a broken doorframe and a discarded roll of duct tape. "You two can either help me or stay here."

"Sister, this is my city." Misty drew her gun. "There is no way I am going to let some two bit magic hustler do this."

"This time is strange, but by the sun you two would make fine Freewomen!" Mint drew her weapon as well.

"Then let us fight!" Marada opened the door and dashed into the chaos.

"How about we get there with some class?" Misty caught up to her. Marada turned, but her anger vanished when she followed Misty's hand. Parked on the corner, and unmolested by the insanity around them, was a jet black 1970 Plymouth Barracuda. Ignoring the stares of the other women, Misty couldn't help but grin. "Now, ladies, I am about to show you what the present day can offer."

~M

Marada tightened her grip on her weapons as Misty walked them towards the car. "What manner of coach is this?" She eyed it warily. "Is it magic?"

"Pure American magic honey." Misty reached out and opened the driver side door. "And they even left the keys in it. God, I love this town!" She slid in and opened the passenger side door. "Get in!" Marada and Mint both eyed each other, but neither one was willing to admit cowardice.

Mint jumped into the back while Marada took the front. "Very well," the woman of old groused, "now what?"

"Now this!" Misty revved the engine. A second later they were racing down the streets. Misty slammed her foot down and put it in the proper gear. The engine roared like a monster and the storefronts were turned to streaks.

Misty turned and spun the wheel madly as they flew past wandering beasts and strange machines. Driving between the legs of a stumbling tripod, Misty aimed the mighty machine at a wrecked car transport. "Misty, what are you doing?" Mint looked greener than normal.

"Something I saw Steve McQueen do once." She gunned the motor and aimed at the makeshift ramp. Marada let out a savage war cry. The car hit the ramp and continued to move forward as large tuffs of fur began to sprout over the transport's suspension.

~S

Simon cackled with glee as the city began to shift ever further. The skies began to rain a thick bluish liquid while skyscrapers jiggled and cried. "Yes, yes! I can rewrite it all, I will be the master!"

A mechanical noise behind him interrupted his speech. "Who dares?" Spinning around, he quickly saw his approaching reflection in a car grill. He barely had time to register a dull surprise when the car struck him.

~MK

Misty relaxed. She knew that tensing up in a wreck would only get more bones broken. Slamming into the steering wheel, the seat belt painfully jerked against her collarbone. Marada was shouting even louder and Mint was curled up in the back. The front end of the car wrapped around Simon, cocooning him a nest of metal. He screamed at her, but she readied herself for the crash as the street raced towards them. She closed her eyes and prayed.

The crash rattled every bone in her body. They hit once and bounced, Simon being painfully dragged under the car. They hit the pavement once more and flipped, sending metal flying. The upside down car skidded until it finally came to a stop, crashing through a pawnshop window in the process.

Misty coughed up spit and blood. "Everyone ok?"

"By the gods, what do you call that?" Marada cut her seat belt away and slid out, ignoring the broken glass.

"Are you sure you don't work for the Martians?" Mint crawled outside.

Misty undid her seatbelt and slowly climbed out. "No, just myself. Let's go finish this mother."

Simon painfully sat up. His legs were mashed into twisted lumps of bone and flesh. His entrails lay scattered about the street. His spine loudly splintered with every movement. "You call that an attack?" He roared, casting various spells, and slowly rising up.

His body began to knit and heal as he steadied himself. "Foolish mortals! Once, I needed you three for the sacrifice. Now, now I shall slay all of you and rule this realm unopposed!"

His jaw exploded. Misty cocked her hammer back on her magnum and took aim. "Not in my city, you hocus pocus piece of trash!" She fired again, striking him in the face as Marada rushed forward.

"Die!" She threw her spear and charged. The plastic and metal weapon sailed through the air and sunk deep into his breast. Without stopping, she un-slung her ax and cleaved his head neatly from his neck.

Mint fired a short round at the falling head. Each disk struck the man's face, nearly cutting through the bone and muscle. The head bounced on the cobblestones. The disk exploded at once, sending large chunks of the head rolling down into the gutter.

"Good work." Misty holstered her gun. Mint pointed at something down the block. Marada cursed and angrily hacked at Simon's body.

The street was pulsating to some unholy beat. Street signs, lampposts, cars, even storefronts, all began to shift in rhythm. "Foolish females!" Simon's hideous laughter cracked windows around them. "You think I would keep all my power in that frail mortal form?"

"Fall back!" Marada dashed towards the store. Long fingers began to form out of the street itself. A broad grin broke in the middle of the pavement, with broken water mains for gnarled teeth.

"Run, yes, run! There isn't a place you can hide from me! The chaos fuels me, the hate nourishes me, and the city gives it all to me! I've had experience you three could never comprehend." 42nd Street rose up, the buildings forming Simon's head. "From this, the madness will spread, history shall rewrite itself and I shall be the new god!"

"Doesn't this guy ever shut up?" Misty and the others huddled inside the pawnbrokers.

"Sorcerers tend to be talkative."

"Maybe we can use that. You know anything about magic?"

Marada shook her head. "Nothing about its use, but I have dealt with my fair share of magic users. He is using the city as shell, but there must be a charm of some kind."

"Would his body be of any use?" Mint had slipped into the back room. She came out seconds later with her arms loaded down with assault rifles and ammo boxes.

Misty raised an eyebrow. "Who were this guy's customers?" She helped Mint and went through the inventory. "Grenades, M-16's; geeze, the dude even has some Soviet stuff."

Marada picked up an AK-47. "This is what your people use as weapons?"

"Some of them." Misty picked up a clip and tossed it to her. "You think his body might be the key?"

"I don't know, but it could be."

"Look out!" Mint ducked behind the counter. Misty saw the street swell and roll towards them.

"Duck!"

The store was blasted by the tidal wave. Misty rose to her feet. "Marada, watch my back! Mint, give us some covering fire!" The body of Simon was being carefully dragged up the side of what was formerly a tenant house. "That creep must have something hidden on him that allows him to do this, but what do we do once we find it?"

Misty and Marada charged into the fight. Misty had snagged whatever she could from the rubble and carried it with her in a gym bag. Misty's instructions were brief, but Marada got the basic do's and don'ts of firearms. The ancient warrior gave a savage cry as she fired round after round into the swirling mass before them.

Simon laughed at their efforts. Misty saw the decapitated body lodging halfway in the wall. Rummaging through what she had savaged, her eyes lit up when she pulled out a grenade launcher and several grenades. Remembering her training, she steadied her aim and fired a round at the body. "Let's just see what happens."

The shell exploded violently against the wall, knocking the body from the transformed Simon's grip. The monster's laughter quickly turned to screams. The blasted corpse plummeted to the ground.

Marada rushed to it. Whipping out the ax, she slammed the blade into the body, scattering its limbs across the street. Simon seemed to regain his confidence. "What do you hope to accomplish by that?"

"It's not the body!" The warrior hissed. "He must have it somewhere!" She looked up. Above her, Simon's fist was crashing down. Rolling to the side, she narrowly avoided a fist comprised of cars and street signs. Thinking quickly, she jumped and grabbed hold of the monster's little finger. The action amused Simon.

"Well little one, now that you have me, what do you intend to do?"

"Send you to Hell!" Flipping up, she scurried along the wrist. Leaping towards the elbow, she flipped through the air. Hitting the chest, she slammed the ax into the concrete and asphalt mixture. Her muscles tensed as she half-slid/half-fell. The ax scrapped against the mixture, doing nothing.

Marada felt the monster shuddered when she clipped a particularly large stone. Freeing her hands, she glommed onto the lump. "Fire!" She slammed her fist into the mixture.

"What?" Simon looked down as Misty and Mint both fired small rockets at his stomach. Marada fell away before the projectiles impacted, sending large chunks of rock and other bits of debris flying. Among the rubble was a large golden sphere. "No!"

Marada made herself limp as she hit the roof of a wrecked car. Forcing herself up, she caught the ball. "Destroy it!" She thrust it into Mint's hands.

The woman from the future nodded. Emptying her gun, she plastered the explosive disks over its surface. "No, stop!" Simon screamed, breaking windows with his voice.

Mint grinned as she hefted the ball to Misty. Simon let loose a ghastly and inhuman scream as she tossed the ball into the air. Shrill, but of a great volume, Simon tried to pick the sphere up, but found his fingers too large for task. Taking cover with Mint and a slowly recovering Marada, all three ducked as the ball exploded.

Simon's screams almost deafened them. The street returned to normal, falling back like a wave. What had once been transformed stood whole again. The sky cleared. The city itself seemed to breathe better. The people carefully approached them. "How did you know?" Misty helped Marada to her feet.

"In truth, I had no idea." Marada joked, "but I know many sorcerers tend to place objects of great power near them. It seemed like a good plan."

"But what if you were wrong?"

Marada looked straight into Misty's face. "Then I'd rip my through his innards with my teeth and tear out his black heart."

Misty found herself slack-jawed as the authorities arrived and began the slow process of cleaning up and asking questions that had no clear answers. Before them, the sky rippled, splitting two holes. On her right, Misty saw a lush countryside. On her left, she spied some blasted heather. "What now?"

"Home!" Both Mint and Marada shouted.

"That monster's death must have opened up the doorway!" Marada freed herself from Misty's grasp and hobbled towards the light.

"But you're injured, you can't go back!" Misty tried to stop her, but the warrior woman held up a hand.

"Misty Knight, this world is strange and fantastic, but I have no place here. If the gods will it, I shall return one day. If I don't, I will see you in the hereafter." Marada the She-Wolf, born of the Caesars, stepped into the right opening and vanished.

"I suppose this my goodbye." Mint dropped her borrowed gun and clasped Misty on the shoulder. "Goodbye Knight. Die well." She stepped into the left portal, leaving Misty alone in a crowded street.

She was stunned as people clamored around her demanded answers. "Look it up." She felt the events slipping from her mind as she slipped through the crowd. Soon, all that was left was a few smashed stores, a couple of wrecked cars, and a few nightmares.

Misty headed back to the office, vaguely wondering why she in Times Square.

The end

Amazing Letters

From Gen X

Not bad

Glad you liked it

They Call Me Bruce

_I'm glad you're putting the chapters in one place. I hope you get more reviews that way._

Well, I'm not doing it for the reviews, but I figured any new series should be in once place.

Wolvmbm

I must say you have a good knack at using various Marvel history characters. Please keep up the good work on these tales of Marvel history.

And I must say you have good taste for sticking with me.

And from Tiffani

I read your story and I thought you did a great job, as you always do on your stories.

And I think you do me a great service by reading them.

This tale was wholly original. Marada the She-Wolf was created by Chris Claremont and John Bolton. She began life as Red Sonja, but the rights were lost. She first appeared Epic Illustrated#10 (February 1982).

Misty Knight was created by Tony Isabella, Ross Andru, and Roy Thomas and first appeared in Marvel Team-Up I#1 (March 1972).

Mint Julep was created by Don McGregor and Herb Trimpe and first appeared in Amazing Adventures II#22 (January 1974)

These characters and every other were created and owned by Marvel Comics. All rights are reserved and no profit is intended.

Be here next time when we see the debut of a brand new (yet old) character! Be here for…

The Tarantula!

Upcoming tales:

Journey Into Mystery#14-Merlin the Mad!

Tales to Astonish#12-Micro-World of DOOM

Sensational Comics#13-Rumble in the Desert


	4. The Arachnid

The Arachnid

The Web of Hell

Spike Carradine never believed in much. From growing up in the slums he was educated in the streets, and the only lesson that stuck with him was "stick it to them before they stick it to you."He had been out of jail for at least a year.

Spike had what he liked to call a "self parole". It had taken some time, but he had finally gotten himself on the right work detail. He had been tar papering the prison roof when he took a chance and dived into the nearby river.

His last job had been a complete bust. Knocking over a home in Forrest Hills only got him a murder rap and a beating from some punk in a wrestling outfit. Spike straightened his collar as he entered the parking garage.

Times had changed. Spike was getting old; crime was a young man's game now, plus with all the costumed heroes running around it just wasn't safe anymore. He had his eye on the penthouse suite for month. One rich dame, and only two servants, neither which stayed the night. The lady never seemed to leave, but Spike wasn't worried.

It had taken his last amount of petty cash, but he rented a pair of overalls. They were generic enough to pass for most jobs. A toolbox at his side helped sell the illusion. As far as anyone was concerned, he was just another plumber or handyman, fixing the toilets of the idle rich. He entered the freight elevator and pushed the button.

~A

Spike had to whistle as he looked around the posh hallway. Thick red wall to wall carpets, ornate chandeliers, the doorknobs alone could feed him for a month. He ignored all that as he moved towards the single door at the end of the hall.

He put his toolbox down and popped it open. Taking out a blank key, he began to insert it into the lock. Much to his shock, the door pushed open. "Unlocked, I think I'm in love!" He gathered his tools and slipped inside.

His jaw dropped. On the nightstand was a wallet stuffed with bills on top of a checkbook. Credit cards peaked out from the morning mail. He quickly shoved them into his pockets. Moving room to room, each sight was more impressive than the last. Antique paintings, jewelry, several fortunes of items were just casually laid out. Spike took as much as he could carry before moving into the bedroom.

The room itself was fairly simple. On one side was a massive four-poster bed. On the facing wall was a giant bookshelf, overflowing with books. Spike was never the most literate person, but he could tell some of the volumes may have been worth something.

"Nice, but maybe later." He eyed a painting on the far wall. Of everything, it looked out of place. It was too modern and cheap when compared to the richness of its surroundings. "Jackpot!"

He removed the painting from the wall and eyed the safe. "Standard model shouldn't be a problem to crack."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Spike froze. Turning around, he saw a petite woman in a Nehru jacket enter the room silently. She was only a few inches shorter than him, with almond shaped eyes and a dusky hue to her skin. Her raven hair almost shone blue in the soft light. "Who are you?" She had no weapon, and the only telephone was in the kitchen.

"Repairman, some of the tenants complained about a noise." Spike smiled broadly.

Her arched eyebrow told him all he needed to know. He reached into his toolbox and pulled out a knife. "Look lady, I don't want any problems. Just give your cash and I'll be out of here in no time."

The woman in turn said nothing and sat down in a stuffed easy chair. Her calm demeanor sent chills down Spike's spine, but he couldn't say why. He took a step forward and tried to sound tough. "Look, just hand over what's in the safe and I'm gone."

She eyed the setting sun and sighed. She turned her attention back to him, and in an instant Spike felt his very bones grow cold. "Tell me, have you ever heard of the Lycosa family?"

"Eh?" Spike lowered his arm. "That like a crime family or something?"

Her eyes flashed, and Spike found himself stepping back. She shook her head and continued. "My name is the Countess Eugenia Lycosa the Eleventh. This story, and you should listen as you will play a part in it, began some centuries ago."

~L

"Back in what was later deemed the Middle Ages, the Lycosa clan was a small but hearty group. The patriarch was a Goth, those wild men of the north who sacked and pillaged Rome. He took the name and title "Lycosa", after the spider that lived in the area of Italy."

"He was a proud man, and a fearsome warrior. In his fortieth year, a plague happened in the area, striking rich and poor alike. The people demanded answers. When his wife began to show symptoms, he took up his axe and went forth into the woods."

"There, an old witch lived back among the ruins. The villagers spoke of her in whispers and said she had lived even before the days of the Caesars. He rode for days under the thick canopy of trees, never seeing the sun nor hearing the birds. When he found her, she was waiting by an old stump."

"He demanded a cure; she laughed. The cure, she said, is in your hand."

"He threatened to behead her. She showed no fear. 'Feel free, better things than you have tried and I dance upon their graves to this day'"

"He offered her gold, jewels, slaves, anything she wanted. She refused them all, but on the third time she relented. "There is a cult, one that worships dark things, things best left undisturbed. They have stricken your people with this plague. Kill their priestess and the plague will cease."

"Before he could question further, a strong wind came upon them. When he opened his eyes, the old hag was gone. Riding back to the village, the Count informed the local priests and began to rally the villagers."

"They refused. His anger building, the Count swore he would destroy the cult himself, even if he had to be damned in the process. He rode towards a small chapel hidden on the coast. The villagers had said they heard music and hellish noises coming from within the long abandoned walls."

"He slipped down the rocky crags as the moon blazed overhead. He crawled among the rocks and raging surf as he approached the chapel. Its origins were mystery even back then, as no one could recall its construction. It had always been there."

"The chapel was alight with singing and candlelight. The Count spied through a crack in the wall, and the sight nearly drove him mad. The room was filled with people, all of them masked and partaking in debauchery."

"On the alter was a blood filled basin, next to it was a sack stained black. A woman, the priestess, stood nude, an ornate golden mask the only thing keeping her identity hidden. She spoke, but in nothing the Count had heard before. She preached and swayed to a hidden rhythm. The followers began to rip each other apart in their frenzy."

"The Count stole back to his mount. Before he left the village, he took care to load his horse down with oil and pitch. Taking them all back to the chapel, he poured the oil on the ancient wood and smeared pitch on the only door. Gathering timbers from the shore, he braced them against the wood. Taking flint from his jerkin, he struck until a small flame appeared. The oil caught fire and soon the whole building was ablaze."

"He readied himself in case any of the cultists managed to break free, but none did. The air was thick with smoke and the screams of the dying. He moved closer to the door, his axe at hand."

"The priestess had moved to the door. Her golden mask gave off a hellish glow. 'You may have stopped us mortal, but we will return when the stars are right. You will know the horrors of the damned forever more, you and your sons!'"

"The Count waited until the chapel was ash before riding back home."

~S

Spike rubbed his palms. "So, ah, that's it?"

The countess shook her head. "Not quite. The Count would go on to suffer blackouts, often coming to with no recollection of where he had been. It wasn't until the birth of his son that he discovered what the priestess had meant."

The room grew colder as the countess closed the curtain. The only light came from the outside rooms. Spike tightened his grip on his knife. The blade suddenly felt tiny and insignificant in his hand. "What?"

He heard the sound of cloth being ruffled and the sound of something tearing. It first sounded like cloth, but it grew louder and to his ears, wetter. "The Count had been cursed, him and his children. You see the cult worshipped the great old gods. By destroying their chapel and disrupting the ceremony, they were denied access here."

Spike was suddenly aware of a peculiar odor filling the room. It was sweet, overwhelmingly sweet. He found it hard to breathe. "But the old gods are not without a sense of humor. They gave the count a gift. Each night, he would transform into…" The countess's voice grew horse and guttural.

"Yeah?" Spike inched towards the door. Forgoing all dreams of wealth, he broke into a sprint, the open doorway beckoning him to freedom. A long greenish black limb suddenly blocked the door. Spike felt his stomach drop. It was not an arm that barred his path, but the coarse hairy leg of a spider.

Spike felt his mind reel in horror as more legs suddenly spouted from the dark and enveloped him, crushing his body. He tried to scream, but found his throat closed. He saw the great gaping mouth in the dim light, rows and rows of teeth and Spike wanted to scream.

~A

The next morning, Joseph Winters stepped out of the elevator. His stark white hair was the only clue to his age. He, and his father before him, had been serving the Lycosa family for decades. He entered the apartment.

An empty toolbox on the floor greeted him. He shook his head and placed the morning paper and mail on the side table before going towards the master bedroom. Knocking once, he heard a muffled sob from the other side.

"Mistress Eugenia?" He slowly opened the door. The room was disorganized, but he had seen it in worse shape. A few bloody remnants of cloth lay scattered about the floor. His mistress was sitting up on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest.

"It happened again, did it not?" Joseph began the process of cleaning up.

"This curse, Joseph, when will it end?"

"I can't say madam."

Rising from the bed, she left the blood-splattered sheets behind as she slipped a robe on and headed towards the kitchen. A lifetime of similar mornings had prepared Joseph and taught him well. He would dispose of the evidence within the hour, but inwardly he still cringed.

The day would be filled with leisure activities and other pursuits of the idle rich, but Joseph knew never to be alone in the apartment after the sunset. Placing the evidence in a large sack, he placed by the door. On the opposite wall sat a large battle-axe. He couldn't help but glance at it as he saw the young woman try to cope with the hellish nightmare that was her life. "I swear to you, I will end this curse one way or another."

The end

Amazing Letters

First, some fan mail:

The Call Me Bruce

Another great chapter. Keep 'em coming

Wolvmbm

Wow,

Wacky Time traveling adventure starnig Misty Knight.

Very clever indeed. I must say I do enjoy the 70s background hints and seeing Misty's sense of duty and honor within this tale. :D

Please do keep up the good work upon all of your great series

Darci

Thanks for providing the link, and writing, Trinity. I think you were very true to all three characters, but Marada had some of the best lines ("Make this thing work. We have many to send to Hell today and I won't denied because of an infernal box." and "Then I'd rip my through his innards with my teeth and tear out his black heart.").  
It doesn't look like I'll see either story I chose in the polls, but that's OK, they're all good.

And of course, Tiffani

Yeah, that was a pretty cool story. I liked it and you did a great job  
on it.

And here things get a bit odd. As you may have noticed, this tale is not based on any particular Marvel story or character. It is based on the Tarantula, who first appeared (and served as the basis for this story) in Weird Suspense#1 (February 1975) with credits to Mike Fleisher (story) and Pay Boyette (art), and it was published by Atlas Comics.

Now, why Atlas you say? Well, believe it or not there is some precedent for Atlas characters crossing over into Earth-616. Before Eric Simon Payne slew devils, he was the Demon Hunter; before Dominic had a fortune he was better known as the Scorpion. So this is just an old tradition of reworking a character.

Now, as far as I know Mr. Fleisher still has the rights to this character (long story and it can be better explained elsewhere), and it has been used without his permission.

Be here next time for the Grim Ghost!

Upcoming issues:

The Avengers#1-Earth's Mightiest Heroes!

Journey Into Mystery#15-Lady Thor Battles the Lava Men

Sensational Comics#14-Trial by Sorcery

Tales to Astonish#13-When Cyclops Walks the Earth


	5. MODOK

M.O.D.O.K.

New Twilight

Advanced Idea Mechanics, despite its reputation, was like most large corporations. There were petty squabbles, office rumors, the occasional romance, and mid-level manager drama. The only difference was sometimes a brightly garbed person would break into the labs and try to beat up everyone.

And like most companies, there came a time where everyone, from executive to washroom lackey, feared: annual performance reviews.

M.O.D.O.K., the Mental Organism Designed for Only Killing, was in charge of A.I.M. The scientifically altered creature enjoyed the fruits of leadership. He also enjoyed using his brain blasts against underlings who displeased him.

Those two factors were on everyone's mind as sector head after sector head went before the gigantic head. "Sector 31, come forth!" His voice was thick. Every syllable seemed to produce a gallon of spit.

The leader of Sector 31 nervously approached. Under the yellow dome, Agent R couldn't help but sweat. He had only gotten where he had thanks to a stray tracer round and a poorly stored vat of acid. He tapped his fingers on the report as he put it in the shriveled hands of his leader.

M.O.D.O.K. thumbed through the folder before dropping it. "Interesting. I want a working prototype ready within 72 hours."

Agent R numbly picked up the folder and took his leave. Once out of sight, he leaned against a wall and sighed with relief. That's when he noticed what he had given M.O.D.O.K. The folder contained a single proposal that made him shiver. "Vampire troops?"

~A

"Are you insane?"

Martha Prufrock looked from her desk as R stormed into the room. She sat back as R ranted. "Vampire troops? We're scientists, not blasted wizards!"

"But the dead do walk, sir," she added a hard edge to the last part, "And from what we've witnessed, we'd be fools not to try and corner the market."

"Oh, like that zombie virus fiasco? What kind of an idiot would want a disease they can't cure?"

Martha was nonplused. "I never said we'd have a repeat of that." Standing up, she turned on a projector. "Since you didn't read my report, I'll go over the highlights."

"As you know, vampirism is a disease. The most common strain gives the infected a hunger for plasma and a vulnerability to ultraviolet radiation. Other strains show abilities to physically transform, mesmerism, even teleportation. You're telling me that there isn't an army in the world that wouldn't pay for a solider like that?"

R removed his helmet. "It's not that simple. Experiments like this have been made before, and each one failed utterly. Remember the last batch? We removed the traditional weaknesses, but they glowed like fireworks in contact with any source of light."

"This will be different!" Martha's face took on an almost manic look.

"Oh? And how?"

"Simple. We locate patient zero, as I call him."

"You mean derive a vaccine from of the original victims? But who could that be?"

"Dracula!"

~Later

The entirety of Sector 31 was at work. Films were studied, witnesses tracked down, and evidence was collected. Everything pointed to the same conclusion.

Trying to capture, use, or negotiate with Dracula was suicide.

Attempts to kill the undead prince had proven useless. Even if killed, he always found a way back. Any partnership, judging from the scores of accounts going back nearly three hundred years, would only result in a bloodbath and betrayal. Dracula had also made his feelings on science clear.

"If we are unable to go the source, why not settle for close enough?" Martha spoke up as she poured over the research. "A direct sire would be close enough, and perhaps we could reason with one."

R mused under his distinctive helmet. "Possible." Turning to another underling, he issued orders. "Research every one of Dracula's victims. I want who was turned and their whereabouts. Find the dead ones too; we might be able to work with what's left."

~M

Martha sat alone in her office. An unfinished report sat before her under a cup of half drunk tea. The lights were off and an old projector was running an old movie. She glanced at the film tin as the climax commenced.

**The Satanic Courtship of Dracula** was the film's title. It was cheesy by any standard, typical of the kind of product Mallet Studios churned out before their buy-out. The lead, however, was her main focus. On the screen, Louis Belski leapt upon the nubile leading lady as a clearly uninterested man in a period costume waved a prop cross around. His fangs were obviously plastic and his greasepaint was staining his collar. He was, by every account, a hammy actor and a sour human when he lived. "What did Dracula see in you?"

Her report was brief, but the tale was interesting. Belski was an actor at the end of his contract and his rope when he apparently ran into none other than Dracula himself. The vampire prince was not a fan, it seemed, as Belski's body was discovered a few days later at the studio with two puncture wounds on his neck.

After a report of Belski and co-star Liza Payne leaving the Los Angles County Morgue under their own power, the two were next found at the studio again, this time staked and reduced to skeletons. The whole affair had been hushed up, but with the right amount of grease anyone could cut through red tape.

It had taken some time to locate Belski's coffin. Payne might have been an interesting subject, but her family had her remains cremated. "So, Belski or bust."

~24 hours later

Martha glanced down from her office. The lab below was sealed. Automated turret guns sat at the ready with silver bullets, garlic, and holy water in specially made clips. Religious icons were worn under all the scientist's suits and woven into the fabric. "Proceed gentlemen." Martha lowered the shades and watched on a monitor from behind three feet of bullet proof glass.

On the slab was a cheaply made coffin. With the right bribe to the right watchman, they had removed Belski's remains. With a crowbar, one of the men jimmied open the lid and stepped back. "Beautiful!" Martha cooed as she saw the moldy skeleton. "Remove the stake. Have the plasma ready." She gently ran a thumb over a red button. If Belski proved uncooperative, they could flood the room with enough holy water and garlic to stun a vampire elephant before the turret guns would cut him to bits.

One of the scientists nervously stepped forward and gripped the broken piece of wood jutting from the ribcage. Slowly drawing it out, he tried to muffle his gagging as the ribs broke away. Once it was freed, however, a startling change began to occur.

"It's like an autopsy in reverse!" Nerves and tendons began to envelop the bones. Veins spread out from a rotting heart and took their proper place. Muscles and flesh obscured their sight, but both men marveled at the sight of a stomach and kidneys regenerating. Once the hair had grown in, Louis Belski opened his eyes and gasped.

Sitting up, he looked around wildly. "Where am I?" Noticing the plasma packets, he nimbly leapt from his coffin and tore the packets open, nosily slurping the red liquid down. Between packets, he glanced around. "Who are you people?"

"Fans, Mr. Belski." Martha's voice rang out over the intercom.

He dropped the empty bag. "Fans?" He attempted to wipe himself clean, but she interrupted.

"No need to be ashamed, Mr. Belski, may I call you Louis? Louis, I want you to relax. We're not only fans, but friends."

Belski stepped back from the table and ran a hand through his blood soaked goatee. "Charmed, but I prefer my friends to be less…" he glanced at two scientists, "bee keeper-ish."

"Understood. If you'll follow them outside, we can do a meet and greet in the main auditorium."

~B

Belski hurrdily wiped his face with a fistful of baby wipes before stumbling onto the stage. Martha stood off to the side. "Your public Louis." He looked at the audience, stunned.

"Ladies and gentlemen, before us is the man responsible for our greatest victory!" On the curtain behind them, an image of legions of black suited soldiers with goggles and pale skin was projected. "From this man, shall flow our greatest glory!" She raised her hand, sparking a wild cheering from the crowd.

Belski was confused, but rolled with it, smiling and waving to the crowd like a politician. He soaked up the adulation as Martha left the stage. "Is the lab ready?" One of her underlings leaned closer.

"Yes ma'am. Belski's room is prepared." An extra tap on her shoulder was code, in the event Belski could make out what they were saying. "Lab is green, R impatient."

"Excellent."

~B

Belski talked for hours. He rambled and preened about his glory days, his hobnobbing with various celebrities, plus more than a few off color remarks about Elizabeth Taylor. Martha, seeing the growing indifference of the crowd, motioned for them to applaud. "Thank you Louis, but we have something we need to discuss."

He nodded absent mindedly and followed her. "Of course. If you want any autographs, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

"Nothing quite like that." She led him into another lab. "Louis, to be frank, we want to study you."

"My acting?"

"No, you. You are a vampire, Louis, and as such you could give us what we need to make a difference in the world."

He stepped back. Martha tensed, but put a hand on his shoulder. "We are scientists Louis. We brought you back to help us understand how to create a better person."

"I'm not a person, I'm a vampire!" he bared his fangs for emphasis.

"True, but you are a vampire deep underground, surrounded by people who know how to kill your kind. We don't mind your stories" She lied through her teeth, "but we need something from you in return. Several members of our staff are fans, and we were planning on hosting several of your films. We will allow you to indulge in whatever you wish, but only after you aid us. Do we have an understanding?"

Belski gazed around, suddenly aware of large vats lining the walls and turret guns mounted in every corner. "Yes," he mentally added, "for the moment."

~A

For the next several weeks, things were different. Various tests were run. Belski possessed all the standard vampire abilities. He could turn into a bat, wolf, or mist. His ability to mesmerize was sadly limited to the extremely weak-minded.

His thirst for blood was manageable, but it was still causing trouble. He would often attack unwary guards, forcing most of them to wear crosses and other religious icons at all times. His moods were growing worse as well. "Like being in charge of a toddler; a toddler with a drinking problem." M.O.D.O.K. had been impressed with their results, but was growing concerned.

Martha stood before the giant head, her helmet secure. "Here is our latest report, sir."

M.O.D.O.K. glanced over the document. He wiggled his tiny arms, ordering the papers taken away. "Good, the results are exactly what I had hoped for." He hovered around the room, passing several screens showing their work. "The volunteers are progressing?"

"Yes sir. Some are experiencing some hunger, but transfusions are reversing those effects."

"What of the other abilities? The traditional weaknesses, have you overcome them?"

"The transformations are proving difficult. The animals are acceptable, but the mist is proving harder to control. As for the weaknesses," Martha shuffled her papers, "We have overcome the garlic reaction, but stakes are still an issue."

"What of crosses?"

"Easily sidestepped."

M.O.D.O.K. hummed. "I see. Tell me, what of patient zero? I've been hearing some disturbing reports from your sector."

Martha swore under her breath. "Belski…is having some issues adjusting. The movies nights are only attended because we threaten the lower ranking agents with experimentation. His reactions are also affecting moral. May we put a ban of any further showing of _Mystery Science Theater 3000_? I fear its influence might be adverse for future screenings."

"The films are being heckled, are they?"

"Like mad, sir. Belski overheard two of our junior division riffing on last Wednesday's showing of **Fangs of Dracula."**

"I saw that in your report. Have they been discharged from the infirmary yet**?"**

"Not for anotherthree weeks sir."

"Distressing, but I want this matter contained."

"Very good sir, but a question if I may?"

The bulbous head looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "Yes?"

"Once the troops are finished, what are we to do with Belski?"

M.O.D.O.K. paused. "Exterminate the subject when he is of no further use."

~B

Unseen by all, a small bat crawled along the ventilation shaft, away from the main meeting room.

~M

Martha made her notes as she headed towards her lab. Seeing the door to R's office ajar, she stopped. Pressing a button on her glove, she summoned security, as per regulations.

Hearing a loud thud, she moved closer. Spying through the crack, she gasped. R was on the floor, his throat torn out. "Louis, you fool!" She muttered under her breath. She failed to see the mist behind her, or it shaping into Belski.

"So, fool am I?" Belski gripped her throat through her helmet. "You think me a buffoon, to be tossed about like a rag doll 'pon the whims of chance?"

"I can explain!" Martha frantically groped for her cross. Hearing the approaching footsteps, Belski threw her into the office.

Scrambling to her feet, she heard the guard's guns. She was relieved, until she heard both men scream and the unmistakable twin thud. The door slowly opened and a mist floated into the room. "Louis, you have to believe me, I didn't want any part of M.O.D.O.K.'s plan!"

"The only thing I have to do, my dear, is end your existence. " He reformed and stalked towards her, his cape held in front of him. His lower face was covered, leaving only his piercing eyes visible.

Martha reached down and found her cross. Holding it out in front of her, Belski screamed at the sight. She pressed forward, driving him back into the hall and into the sights of the newly arrived guards. "Open fire!"

Belski was torn apart by the steel jacketed rounds. Martha stood as still as she could, keeping the cross in front of her. Her childhood made her used to a variety of firearms, but that still didn't take away the fear of a ricochet or Belski making a last ditch effort.

Belski went down like a shredded bag of wheat. Nimbly leaping over his perforated remains, she rushed towards the armed guards. "Secure him! Use the Delta Protocol, I want as much of him as possible." She issued orders to the arriving crews. Inwardly she shook.

"Blast, this could set back the entire program!" Walking away as Belski was scooped into a sealed bin, Martha switched on her com-link to the scientists under command. "R is dead, leaving me in charge. I want a full status report by the time I get back to Sector 31."

~M

"What's the report?"

"Well, ah, the troops aren't responding as we had hoped." Martha glared at the man.

"And how are they responding?"

"They're, ah, dead, ma'am."

Martha felt her eyelids twitch. "They're vampires. Of course they're dead!"

"Yes," dark stains began to appear under the lackey's arms. "But this is deader than before. Roughly five minutes ago, all their vitals flat-lined and they are not responding to any outside stimuli."

A thought hit her. "Wait, five minutes?" She pushed back the protesting lackey and marched towards the containment areas. "Belski!"

~B

Belski was calmly sitting on a small metal cot. The container had been opened, and from the guards accounts, he had simply exited the device without incident. "Alright you pompous ass, what did you do my product?"

"I?" He opened his eyes wide and gestured broadly. "I, dear lady? While you were running amuck, I have been sitting here, peaceful as a lamb."

"Cut the bull you ham. I know you did something to those volunteers. What was it?"

Belski leaned back and gazed at the ceiling. "Did you know that under the Borgias Italy produced Michelangelo, Da Vinci, and the Renaissance? In Switzerland they had brotherly love; five hundred years of democracy and peace. What did that produce? The cuckoo clock. Violence produces greatness, it forces us to rise to the best. How will you handle this?"

"Your Welles is terrible." Martha turned to order his execution when alarm claxons went off. "What's wrong now?"

"The troops, they're not dead-" the line over her intercom went dead. Armed troops rushed past her. Belski chuckled.

"True, my Welles may be lacking, but how's your Carpenter?" He laughed as Martha glared at him.

"What did you do?"

"I was shooting a drive-in filler over in Spain, **Dracula's Conquest**, I think. The finale had Dracula; I was Dracula of course, summoning up a cemetery to slay his enemies."

"That's ridiculous! Vampires don't have that kind of capability!"

"Ah, but vampires can read my dear. I simply visited your lovely laboratory on the way to where you had the fruits of my labor, before I dumped a rather potent chemical cocktail into their IV drips."

"You fool! What chemicals did you use?"

His voice grew harsher. "You know, in all this excitement, I just plum forgot." He cleared his throat. "Eastwood learned that from me, you know."

"What in blazes is going on?" M.O.D.O.K.'s voice rang out over the intercom.

Martha rushed towards the main control room. "Coming sir, and I can explain everything!"

~M

Martha, to her credit, did explain what Belski had told her. M.O.D.O.K.'s reaction was expected, but she was still surprised. "Well, what do you suggest we do?"

"Normal means of dispatching the troops would be out of the question. We managed to remove the weakness to garlic, religious icons, and ultraviolet radiation."

"What about stakes through the heart?"

"Their armor blocks that, plus we laced their breastbones with a nanoweb mesh, making puncture wounds heal almost instantly."

"What of their minds?"

"We hadn't worked on that, but sir, the state they are in…"

"They can still be affected by my brain blasts." M.O.D.O.K. floated towards the door. "Free Belski. I want him before me as I slaughter his offspring."

~B

Belski was bound with silver laced cables and hauled before M.O.D.O.K. "I never share the feature billing!" He struggled as the group progressed down the hall.

M.O.D.O.K. ignored him as he hovered. "Listen to me carefully. We are going to make our way towards the backup labs. From there we flood this installation with ultraviolet radiation."

"How?" One of the lesser peons asked.

"Using the anti-vampire defenses. I knew this day would come." M.O.D.O.K. rumbled as he pressed forward, pushing Belski to the side and dragging him along.

~M

Before the group was a sealed door. Going from the previous garbled radio transmission, a security team managed to seal the hallway before the vampires overcame them. "Team One, prepare to open the door!"

The two technicians nervously stepped forward. Entering the proper code, they both jumped back as the giant metal doorway rolled open. Flicking on their flashlights, they cast a few stray beams of light into the blackened mess.

M.O.D.O.K. moved forward. "Follow me. Those of you with weapons, form a defensive circle. Belski goes in front. Move quickly, but be careful."

Scurrying noises made everyone freeze. Increasing their lights, they caught sight of a vampire, sucking on meaty remains of something. "Open fire!"

Bullets tore through the creature; unfazed, it threw away its paltry meal and advanced towards them. M.O.D.O.K. positioned himself in the very front. With a simple concentration, he sent a brain blast into the monster's cortex. With a dazed shriek the monster dropped, blood flowing from its head. "Decapitate it. I want its brain studied."

"Sir, we have audio contact with the rest of them." M.O.D.O.K. hovered ahead.

"Fall back to the backup control room. Execute plan Alpha Zero Delta. I shall join you shortly."

~M

M.O.D.O.K. moved closer through the ruined hallway. Ahead, he could hear the shuffling of feet and the dragging of claws on metal. "I tried to be reasonable, but I fear you have forced me to use science against you."

With a single mental command, scores of weapons became activated on his advanced hover chair. Rockets poked out from below his arms as dozens of various automatic firearms were readied. The hallway was sealed off from almost every direction, forcing the vampires to move in one direction: towards him. Switching to night vision, he saw the forms moving closer in the dark.

"I regret wasting so much time and data, but the work can be redone. Having a squad of mad killers is not productive." With a twitch, he fired all his weapons as the vampires charged in their fury.

The bullets tore through them first. True to Martha's notes, the bullets did little to slow them down, and he could briefly make out where the tissue was healing itself. The rockets, however, made all their effort useless.

The hallway was rocked with explosions. The sheer concussive force was enough to liquefy most of the creature's insides, but the shrapnel did a fine job of tearing them apart. Even with all their skills and abilities, being bulletproof is meaningless when you lack a head.

Once the room was clear, another mental command reopened all the doors. As the armed men in yellow jumpsuits rushed in with the proper equipment, M.O.D.O.K. sighed and floated past. Without looking to a lackey, orders were issued.

"I want this mess catalogued, cleaned, and reorganized. Then I want Prufrock and Belski to be sent to my office within the hour."

~M

The pair was sent in separately. Martha had visions of her brain being fried or worse as she sat before the giant barely mobile head. "Prufrock, I have to admit, I am disappointed. Your father was one of our staunch supporters, but I didn't assign you to Sector 31 because of him. "

"This mess, and it is a mess, is deplorable. Weeks of hard data ruined, valuable equipment damaged; if you were any other drone I'd be having your corpse dragged out of here." She relaxed somewhat, but not by much. "No, I assigned you to 31 because I expected results. You delivered on part, but you failed to maintain the balance. I will be reassigning the project to another sector. You'll be put on leave until further notice."

"Thank you sir, I'll work harder to regain your trust." She felt the sweat running in rivers down her back.

"I trust you will, or else."

~B

Belski was wheeled inside the office. "Bah, you foolish mortals think to hamper the dark prince?"

M.O.D.O.K. waved the attendants away. "Mr. Belski, I have encountered Dracula. I have studied many Dracula films. You, sir, are not fit to dry-clean Christopher Lee's cape."

"And what do you intend to do about it? I destroyed your work, there'll never be another like me!"

"I should hope not. Mr. Belski, you may not be aware of this, but we do have such things as backup files and copiers. Rest assured, we can and will continue our work. Your little demonstration did show us some new techniques, and for that I am grateful."

Belski was less sure of himself. "What are you going to do?"

M.O.D.O.K. said nothing. With the press of a tiny button, a silver stake was fired into Belski's heart just as the ceiling opened, flooding the room with sunlight. Belski barely had time to scream before he was reduced to dust.

The attendants entered the room. "I want those remains studied thoroughly, then douse them in holy water and bury them separately. And be quick about it, we have work to do around here."

The end

I would like to extend my thanks to Darci for proofreading this, and to everyone who read it at the Marvel Lab and commented on it at the boards.

And before any starts to wonder, yes, this tale was meant to be the latest issue of Super Villain Team-Up. Since the website hosting the series closed, I figured it still met the criteria for Amazing Fantasy.

And yes, I know I promised the Grim Ghost this time, but since the Lab closed, I found myself with an extra story. The Ghost will ride next time, I swear.

The story is original, with the stars first appearing in the following

Louis Belski, Dracula Lives#4 (January 1974) with credits to Marv Wolfman (script), Mike Ploog (pencils), Ernie Chan (inks), and Roy Thomas (editor)

M.O.D.O.K., Tales of Suspense I#93 (September 1967), with credits to Stan Lee (script/editor), Jack Kirby (pencils), Joe Sinnott (inks), Artie Simek (letters)

Martha Prufrock, Punisher Annual I#3 (June 1990), with credits to Mike Baron (script), Neil Hansen (pencils), and Don Daley (editor)

And be sure to keep an eye out for the following

Journey Into Mystery#16-Lady Thor VS the Cobra

Sensational Comics#15-The Hulk VS Iron Man & the Angel

Tales to Astonish#14-Bebeop beat down

The Avengers#2-Trial by Fire


	6. The Grim Ghost

The Grim Ghost

Enter the Grim Ghost!

New Year's Day, 1743

Past winding paths and gnarled trees, a lone coach plowed through the wintery path towards Boston. Inside the coach, wrapped under several blankets, two very different looked at the woods surrounding them. Lord Braddock, a man of some winters, leaned back and cursed the snow. It had been his wife's idea to travel at nigh towards a party to celebrate the New Year. It had been her idea, mostly. Something to celebrate his latest victory for King George II was needed, she argued.

His wife, the Lady Sarah Braddock, gazed out at the driven snow. She was many years his junior, a fact that had wagged more than a few tongues. He met her by chance only some months prior. The courtship had been a whirlwind affair, but now the spark was dwindling.

To her credit, the Lady gave him no chance to complain. She was always quick with the right word or suggestion. For every thing she said, however, he always felt she was never there. "Hurry up Hodgkin; we'll freeze to death before we arrive home!" Braddock thumped his heavy cane on the roof.

The speed increased. When it failed to slow, both Lord and Lady grew worried. "I say Hodgkin, what the devil is the matter?" Leaning forward, with some difficulty, he peered out the window.

In lieu of his man servant, there seated in the driver's box was a figure already well known among the people of New England: the Grim Ghost!

Few had reported the strange figure, but Braddock knew at once who had taken the reins. A black stocking mask obscured the man's features, while his clothes were a sight mockery of a gentleman's usual garb. Twin pistols rested within reach on the Ghost's belt. The Ghost looked down at him and gave a hellish laugh. "Rest well ye merry gentleman! I shan't detain you any more than necessary!" Rounding a sharp bend, the Ghost drew one of his pistols and fired, shattering the coupling and allowing the horses to run free. The Ghost jumped free of the coach seconds before it crashed.

The Grim Ghost dusted himself off before trudging towards the coach's door. "Stand and deliver please, your money or your life." He threw open the door and thrust his other gun into Braddock's face. The lord sputtered with rage.

"How dare you sir!" The Ghost ignored him and removed the older man' purse. Turning his attention to the lady, the Ghost motioned with his gun.

Lady Braddock stepped out into the snow. For a second, she could have sworn the Ghost blinked under his mask. Shaking his head, he thrust the weapon into her side. "I can't help but admire your necklace. It would be a pity to mark such a beautiful cheek over such a bauble" His fingers entwined around the carefully made gold, but she placed a hand upon his.

"Please sir, you may take all my other jewels, but leave me this."

The Ghost paused and laughed. "Why? Surely it holds no special memory, can it? A gift from a past lover then?" Lord Braddock's face flushed at his words.

"No, merely a family heirloom. My grandmother died getting it to my mother." The Ghost drew back.

"Madam, your story has moved me. I shall honor your words and leave you that trinket. I will, however, remove all other finery you have on your person."

Ignoring Lord Braddock's protests, the Ghost tore away the fine silk garments and removed the hidden coin purses. "A pity we encountered each other under such circumstances. A woman of your beauty should be clad as such always."

A flush spread over her face. "You do me great injustice sir. You have your valuables. Now let my husband and I leave."

The Ghost laughed again. "Very well, since such a beautiful woman asked, I shall be on my merry way." Whistling, a black horse galloped out from the deep woods. The Grim Ghost hopped onto its back and rode away, his cruel laughter echoing on the night wind.

As Lord Braddock swore and bundled himself up against the cold, the Lady Sarah narrowed her eyes and starred down the path the highwayman had taken. "I'll get my revenge, Grim Ghost, even if it takes the rest of my life! I swear it!"

~GG

Some miles away, the figure of the Grim Ghost vanished. In his place, atop of a black horse which was now sporting a distinctive white forelock, was Matthew Dunsinane, a figure well known on the Boston social scene. "Ah, what a haul!"

The Dunsinane family had made their fortune first in silver, then gunpowder. Sadly, a serious of bad investments had shrunk the family fortune to almost nothing. As it stood, Matthew was able to keep the family estate, but just barely.

He had turned to highway robbery at first to make ends meet. He now had more money than he had ever earned legitimately, yet he still prowled the roads and marshes. His thoughts were quiet as he stabled his horse and slipped into the large manor home via a back exit, concealed in the floor of the hidden stable.

His thoughts turned to Lady Braddock as he secreted away his ill-gotten gains. "What a charming lady. I wonder if his lordship knows the truth?" He remembered hearing about a woman causing a great deal of scandal on the continent. He was positive the name was different, but her face matched the rumored lady's visage. "A thief, I believe. I wonder…"

His mind wandered as he fell asleep by the fireplace.

~LB

Sarah Braddock was not a woman who forgave easily. She began plotting the Grim Ghost's demise the moment the black garbed highwayman left. By the time she arrived at her home, she had the plans finalized.

The next morning, she carefully brought it up to her husband, making sure to phrase in such a way to lead him to believe he came up with the idea. As the Lord Braddock stormed out of the house to set the plan in motion, Sarah leaned back in her chair and smiled. "Ghost or not, no one makes a fool of me!" Her mind kept going back to the woods. "Only one man lives in that area. My husband may think it foolish to suspect such a upstanding man, but I know too well what lurks behind virtuous masks. That Matthew Dunsinane is the Ghost, I'm sure of it!" The facts kept repeating in her mind.

Only Dunsinane lived nearby. His property had been searched several times when the Ghost first appeared, but the man always managed to prove his innocence at the last minute. "Tricks that can fool pompous magistrates may not stand against a clever mind. We will see, Mister Dunsinane, if you are what you say you are."

Two weeks later

Braddock Manor was filled with guests. The party had been Sarah's idea. From the highest levels of Boston's society, Sarah had seen fit to include every rich merchant, lord, or anyone who had more than a few pieces of jewelry to her home.

"Such a target could temp Robin Hood himself. Now, if Dunsinane would only show." Sarah mingled among her guests, punch glass in her hand. She made it a point not to drink, but to keep the appearance. "If the Ghost is someone else, let them think me a drunk. I'll have my revenge when they lest suspect it."

As if on cue, Matthew Dunsinane stepped out from the crowd and purposely bumped into her. "Oh, forgive me my Lady. I fear the punch has gone to my head."

"Nonsense Mister Dunsinane, the fault was mine. Tell me, how goes your gunpowder trading?"

"I fear I'm my only stable customer at the moment, but I've got a feeling my coffers will be overflowing before too long."

Sarah looked at the man as he spoke. His raven black hair was neatly in place. She heard he refused to wear wigs. "An oddity, but hardly worth condemning the man." She studied his clothes. They were clean, neat, and showed no signs of wear, but even the most recent piece was still out of fashion by six months. "A gentlemen of leisure doesn't have to be a fashion plate, but still; combined with his talks of money troubles…"

Matthew leaned in close. She failed to smell any alcohol on his breath. "Forgive me for staring, but that is a lovely necklace."

"You like it?" She held it up. "I almost didn't wear it tonight. Some ruffian nearly ripped it away from my neck. Can you believe such an outrage?"

She studied his face. There was something in his eyes that almost made her step back. She pressed her advantage. "I fear I have been overtaxed by the celebrations."

"Yes, that reminds me, what exactly was the cause of this party?"

"Why, to celebrate the arrest of that horrible rouge the Grim Ghost, of course. That, and the celebration of my acquiring an equal amount of gems to replace the ones stolen."

Dunsinane laughed too quickly. "I see, well, I toast your party then."

She bid her goodbyes and made her way back to her bedroom. She moved carefully and slowly, aware that Dunsinane's eyes never left her.

~LB

She closed the door to her bedroom, but she didn't lock it. Taking off her necklace, she carefully placed it inside her wardrobe. She checked the curtains. All of them were pulled back, allowing anyone interested to peer inside.

She turned away from the window and began to disrobe when the window opened. The Grim Ghost casually stepped inside the room, pistol drawn. "Stand and deliver madam."

"The Grim Ghost!" Sarah smiled and lay down on the bed. "To what do I owe this honor?"

"The necklace I was remiss in collecting during our last meeting. Also any other valuables you have stashed about."

Sarah leaned back on the stuffed mattress. Her grin grew larger. The Ghost's musket wavered. "Didn't you hear me woman? Be quick, or be dead!" He moved closer, lowering his weapon. "Unless you wish me to partake of some other rare gem…"

"Neither you cad!" Lord Braddock burst into the room, sword in hand. Nearly a dozen of stout fellows, each of them bristling with weapons, poured out from nearly every means of entrance.

The Grim Ghost swore in a most uncouth manner. "I suppose the game is up then?" He dropped both muskets to the floor.

"Indeed!" Lord Braddock marched forward, and with one smooth motion tore the Ghost's mask from his face. "Matthew Dunsinane!"

~GG

Three weeks later

The trail was one of the fastest on the records. Witness after witness took the stand, each one condemning Dunsinane. Mounting his own defense, Dunsinane proved a most inadequate lawyer.

To the shock of no one save the man before the jury, a guilty verdict was issued. The judge, a man who lost two good horses and a daughter's virtue to Dunsinane's efforts, smiled as he handed down the sentence. "Matthew Dunsinane, you have been tried by a jury of your peers and found guilty of thirty counts of highway robbery, twenty-five counts of assault, sedition, and manslaughter. It is the judgment of this court that you be hanged from the neck until you are dead and that this sentence be carried out no latter than a week's time. May God have mercy of your soul."

Dunsinane lowered his head. Then, suddenly, looked up and stared at the judge and jury. "Gentlemen, I have serious doubts of that, but since I'm damned anyway, I do leave you with one regret. I wish I had slept with more of your daughters!"

He was dragged away before the jury could hang him in the courtroom.

~GG

One week passed, quicker for some and slower for others. Matthew was led from his cell to the gallows. A large crowd had assembled to witness the Grim Ghost's hanging. He had barely said a word after his trial, and had refused all offers. "What good does food do a damned soul?"

The haughty manner was gone. Now, a scared man was the one being prodded and pulled towards the gallows. He shakily ascended the stairs and bit his lips when the hood was placed over his head. The noose was heavy and itchy against his neck. "Take it off, I can't breath!" he struggled against his bonds. He thought his felt the fetters against his ankles loosen, seconds before the lever was pulled and he fell through the trap door.

He felt weightless before he landed hard. Tearing the hood away from his face, he looked around. The gallows still stood. The sky was black, and he heard no sound. "Hello? Is there anyone there?"

He stood up, no longer shackled. Strolling out into the square, he was struck by just how silent. "Where the hell did everyone go?"

"An appropriate choice of words." A harsh voice echoed across the commons. Matthew felt the hairs on his neck freeze and his stomach flipped.

"Who are you? Show yourself!"

"A bit rude, ordering someone like that about in his own home. I forgive you though, since you're new." A cloven hoof struck against the cobblestones. Matthew saw the figure step out of the shadows. The fiery red skin, thick black hair, Matthew found his throat closed shut as the figure almost danced towards him. "Ah, Matthew Dunsinane. I have waited ever so long to meet you." He formally extended his hand.

"Satan?" Matthew felt faint. "I'm…dead?"

"As a doornail. That's what happens when your neck is broken. Now, let's get down to business." He withdrew his hand with a shrug when Matthew failed to take it.

Perhaps it was the manner, or rather, the lack thereof, that made Matthew react. "No, I believe not Old Scratch."

The devil, with an upturned eye and smile, stepped back. "Again with the rudeness. We'll have to work on that Mister Dunsinane. Now follow me."

The horned figure strolled off, his hooves striking little flames on the cobblestones. Matthew, for lack of better reason, trailed behind. Rounding the corner, he gasped.

Instead of the old square, he saw nothing but flame and heard nothing but the screams of the damned. "I usually give my guests something familiar, before I introduce them to their final fate."

"No, there must be a mistake!"

"Oh Matthew, so naïve for one so lived. Make no mistake Matthew, you were judged by a much higher court and sent here."

"But, surely there is some hope, even for a sinner such as myself!"

"There was, it was called your life. No my boy, you had your chance, and as the parlance goes, you blew it." Satan stopped. Turning to a lesser imp, he conversed in a language that sent shivers down Matthew's spine. "On second thought Matthew, how would you like to earn a second chance?"

"You mean I can be redeemed?"

"Not in a million years, but you get to walk the Earth once more." He gestured to the fiery pits below. "Either serve as my vassal upon the Earth or spend all eternity suffering torment. Your choice, of course, but I'd hurry. These offers have a time limit."

"I don't have much a choice, do I?"

Satan smiled. "You never did. No, if you'll follow me…" Matthew followed the devil through a small tunnel into a spacious office. The whole thing reminded him of his schoolmaster's study.

Sitting down behind a large desk, Satan pulled a large contract out from a drawer. Unfolding it, he spread it out on the desktop. "Sign at the bottom please."

Matthew glanced at the paper, which was filled with legal jargon. "Wait, this says I am 'to be your agent upon the Earth, for all time, but only during the absence of the sun'? What does that mean?"

Satan sighed. "A most regrettable bet from my younger days. During the daylight hours I am not permitted to have active agents. From sunrise to sunset, you are fully mortal. So be careful; if you die during the day, the contract ends and I get your soul for all time."

"So then I am to have power during the night?" Matthew took the offered pen. Almost at once he pricked his thumb on an unseen bur, spilling a few drops of crimson on the parchment. Satan snatched the paper away.

"Oh my yes. Besides your costume, a nice touch I must add, you will be given weapons to aid you in your mission, as well as various powers when it suits me."

"Again, you mention agents and jobs, but what exactly is it I am to do? Reap souls? Tempt mortals?"

"A little of both; you see my boy, there are scores of evil doers, but too many of them repent. I need an agent, someone who will collect and deliver to me the blackest and foulest, before they can wipe the slate clean, to borrow a phrase."

"And I am to use whatever means necessary to succeed in my mission?" Matthew felt dizzy. Sitting down, he shook his head clear.

"What madness is this?"

Instead of the office, they were both in a location Matthew knew all too well. He was sitting down in the grand hall of his house. Satan ran a finger along the dust covered railing. "A mere gift. I thought it appropriate to base you in your stomping grounds." He moved, leaving hoof prints in the dust. "Although I decided to place in a time I think that has great potential. The year, Matthew, is 1975 AD. Mid-January, unless I miss my guess."

"Over two hundred years?"

"Yes, now to business." Satan snapped his fingers; at once the house was flooded with light, the dust and grime gone. "I expect some souls tonight Matthew, so don't tarry. And don't worry about contacting me, I'll keep in touch." With a laugh straight from the abyss he vanished in a puff of brimstone.

Matthew looked around his house. Things were still there, yet everything had a surreal quality. "Light, without heat? What a strange age!"

~GG

Exiting the house through his usual way, he made his way to the secret stable. There, stomping an ebon hoof against the ground was a massive horse. It was coal black, with blood red eyes and thick powerful muscles. "So, the Dark Lord has a sense of humor, eh?" Checking his belt, he found a brace of pistols. "Very well, tonight the Grim Ghost rides once more!"

Mounting the massive beast, he kicked it once and sent into a mad gallop. Sparks flew from the ground before the horse took to the sky. The Grim Ghost gasped and clutched the reigns. "Flight?" He nervously glanced down. "I suppose I wouldn't die if I were to fall, but I'd rather not risk it."

Within seconds, the skyline of Boston was visible. "This is a city?" He pulled back on the reigns, slowing the horse. For a second, he couldn't speak. The lights, noise, buildings, they were too much. "Such wonders!"

Landing on a nearby rooftop, he dismounted and moved carefully to the edge. "I see mankind has moved on since my passing. I wonder, how can I find sinners here? Surely such advanced people would be beyond such things."

The echo of a gunshot and a dying scream interrupted him. Glancing down at the alleyway between the two buildings, he saw a uniformed man staggering in the dark. The other men approached men, both of them holding short blades. "Then again, perhaps man hasn't changed so much after all!"

~G

Knuckles and Blast sniggered at the dying guard's last words. "Hey, think the boss will mind if we help ourselves?" Knuckles riffled through the man's pockets.

"Naw, but can you hurry it up? I'm getting the creeps." Blast eyed the shadows.

"What's the rush? The boss is taking care of the furs. All we have to do is wait for the signal."

The sound of laughter made both men freeze. "What was that?" Blast dropped his switchblade and drew a snub nose .38

"The wind. Come on, let's get back to the warehouse." Knuckles stood up and froze. "Hey, what's that?"

Before the two hoodlums strolled a man in dark clothes. They had no idea what to make of his black hood, strange looking pistols, ruffled shirt, or breeches. They knew he was trouble, however. "Ok buddy, drop those toys and step into the light. We don't want to hurt you."

The Grim Ghost, under his hood, smiled. "Gentlemen, I have rather serious doubts of that occurring."

For a response, Blast and Knuckles fired. Both bullets hit their target dead center, dropping the Ghost. He lay in the alleyway, unmoving. "Well, he wasn't so tough." Knuckles smirked as he pocketed the gun. Blast looked at the body uneasily.

"I don't know man, this whole thing's weird. Why would a dude walk around like that?"

"I don't know, why does Daredevil dress like a blind guy made his suit?" Hearing a car horn going off in a series of blasts, Knuckles placed a well chewed toothpick in his mouth. "There's the signal, let's go."

Hearing two very distinct clicks, both men turned around. "Hey, where'd he go?" Blast felt a cold sweat forming on his neck. The stranger wasn't there.

"Above gentlemen, a direction that neither of you will be going shortly." Glancing up, Blast whimpered when he saw the now alive stranger sitting on a black horse that floated in the air.

"Waste him!" Knuckles drew his gun, but the Grim Ghost was faster. The two muskets were in his hands instantly. Squeezing the triggers produced a hellish blast of flame that spread and enveloped the two men.

Knuckles and Blast didn't have time to scream as they were reduced to little more than twin black stains on the pavement. Holstering the weapons, the Grim Ghost laughed. "Sorry fellows, but far better you than me!"

Seeing a car speeding away from the scene, the Ghost paused. "Hmm, they did mention a leader. Perhaps I should follow. Surely one more can't hurt my quota." With a swift kick, he sent the horse galloping through the night.

~G

Hazel Gee nervously lit a cigarette. She blasted the car horn, but Blast and Knuckles never showed. "Well, if those mugs want to get caught, that's their business!"

The expressway was quiet, owing to the time of night. Speeding, Hazel felt her fears loosen. "The boss will flip! He never figured I could do something like this." She thought back to the fresh furs stashed in the trunk. "When those babies hit the market, we'll be on easy street!" She smirked as she turned on the radio. "Come to think of it, why should I tell that fat fool anything? I mean, I could start my own gang, probably do it better too!"

A flaming streak outside the car made her drop her cigarette. "What the hell?"

A black garbed figure, atop a black horse, raced in front of her and stopped in the middle of the bridge. He drew two strange looking pistols and aimed them at her. She screamed, slamming on the brakes.

The car went into a skid, spinning around. Metal screamed in protest as the oversized muscle car slammed into the divider, taking off a mirror and crumpling the doors. Hazel groggily looked up from the steering wheel. She spat out a few bloody teeth as the stranger dismounted and calmly walked over to her. "Who?"

"The Grim Ghost madam, and it is truly a pity we had to meet under such circumstances." He leveled a pistol at her.

"Hey, wait, we can make a deal!" She forced herself up. Her collarbone felt like hot knives were being run through it. She groped blindly in her seat, hoping to find the pistol she had stashed earlier. "Maybe some kind of super dupe, but I bet he's not bullet proof!"

Almost in answer to her thought the Grim Ghost squeezed the trigger. A blast of hellfire melted the car window and enveloped her. Hazel didn't have the time to scream as flesh, muscle, and cloth were burned away. A perfectly intact skeleton sat in the driver's seat for a second before collapsing.

Holstering the deadly weapon again, the Grim Ghost mounted his black stead. With a morbid laugh he once again took to the night skies. "Come fellow, let us not tarry back to the homestead!"

~Several hours later

The morning sun was just creeping over the horizon as the police cordoned off the scene. Commissioner Harrison Marten gingerly sipped his coffee as he gazed over the scene. "So what am I looking at?"

"Craziest thing I've ever seen boss." Will Stube had been working the corner's office ever since Marten was a patrolman. "From a glance, a human female. Everything has been removed; no skin or muscle. From the state of the bones, I'd say stripped by some form of intense heat."

Marten jerked his thumb towards the car's interior. "So why isn't the leather burned to a crisp?"

"Not a clue. The state of the car suggests this was a few hours ago. So unless whoever was driving this suddenly jumped out and then tossed a skeleton inside, I have no idea."

"Mutant?" Marten felt his ulcer acting up. Boston had been saved from the ravages of the super human community, and he had intended to keep it that way.

"Maybe, but if that's the case I'd have to bring in some outside help. You know, verify everything, make sure this horror prop doesn't get up and dance."

"Whatever you have to do Will, but I want this contained, and fast. This car belongs to the Magruder boys. This town could end up with a damn bloodbath if we're not careful."

~GG

Matthew gazed out of the window as the sun slowly rose over the trees. "So, this is the twentieth century. What a strange time." He sat down on his old chair. He felt little remorse for the three souls he damned scant hours ago. "Better them than me, but how long can me torment last?"

The old home, once a source of pride and comfort, gave him no answer. "I got out of the noose once, and I wager I can escape Satan's clutches!" he kept this thought to himself rather than speak it. He grew bolder in the morning light, but not stupid. "I'll play the ever faithful boot lackey, but there must be a way to escape Hell's servitude!"

He stood up and glanced around the old hall. "Well, the time of the Grim Ghost is passed. Now then, let the modern world meet Matthew Dunsinane and tremble!" He felt his cockiness coming back as he stepped outside and faced the present day.

The end

Credits

Yes, another trip to the land of Atlas. The tale was based on "Enter the Grim Ghost", which was first published The Grim Ghost#1 (January 1975), with credits to Mike Fleisher (script), Ernie Colon (art), and Jeff Rovin (editor).

Now, with this tale I admit I changed very little. The changes, as they are, are mostly cosmetic with regards to pacing. So then, who is the Grim Ghost? He's not a very nice fellow doing some rather nasty work. Will we see him again?

Maybe…

Now for the fan mail

They Call Me Bruce

_Good work here fella_

Wolvmbm

_Never thought I'd see the day, MODOK VS Vampires. Well, now I've seen every thing in Marvel comics. Very clever idea of yours as well to integrate some many characters from various titles into this little tale of yours. Please do keep up the good work upon such ideas like this one for future reads. I mean, A.I.M. and Vampires, wow. _

Glad you liked it. The character here is slightly different than my usual fare. Honestly, I felt the story had enough potential to stand as is, plus if it gets some interest in the character again…

Like the other Atlas characters, the Grim Ghost should still be owned by his creator Mr. Fleisher, all rights reserved.

And keep an eye out of the following tales

Journey Into Mystery#16-Lady Thor VS the Cobra

Sensational Comics#15-the Hulk VS Iron Man & the Angel

The Avengers#2-Trial by Fire!

Tales to Astonish#14-Bebop Beat-down!


	7. Tigra

Tigra

Beware the Claws of the Cat!

~Before

If you can make it in New York City, then you can make it anywhere. The old cliché did little to bolster Joanie Baker, as it was fairly clear she wasn't making it. Not as an actress at any rate.

Joanie told anyone interested that she was an actress. Which was true, but that wasn't what she did for money. She had been toiling away in various acting workshops, hoping for her big break. She went to all the trendy spots, left her number with all the right people. She had taken to wearing what some called punk fashions, mostly because they were cheap, plus they lent her some credibility. Or so she thought.

Despite the partially shaved head, the few safety pins adorning her ears, it didn't do any good. Joanie always thought she was destined for bigger things and refused to be held back. When a fellow workshop attendee asked her out, she shot him down. "Sorry, but you're too ordinary for me!"

What Joanie didn't know was that the plain fellow was actually Jerry Hall, a fairly big name on Broadway. He took a great deal of umbrage at her remarks, but he didn't say anything. When he revealed himself to her, they began to date. At least until he landed a movie deal, then suddenly she was 'too plain' to be seen with such a star of his magnitude.

She tried to continue acting, but suddenly the offers weren't coming her way as much. She found herself working pretty much any odd job she could get her hands on, which was why she found herself walking home through the Bowery near midnight.

She had just finished a late shift at an all night deli when she heard the cry. Around the corner, she saw a sight all too typical for the area: street crime. An old woman was forced to the ground as a gang of youths beat her with bike chains.

Joanie stopped and hung back. There was no one else on the street, and no pay phones. If the residents of the surrounding buildings heard her cries, they gave no knowledge. Joanie shook her head and refocused her attention elsewhere. "Serves the old bat right anyway!"

The younger men's cruel laughter stopped. Actually it stopped short, like they were interrupted. Joanie shrugged her shoulders and continued to walk away. "Probably some caped nut; good for them." She walked down the block, around the offending scene until she was back towards her apartment.

"Great, and I can get home in time to wake up to another dead end job!" She groused as fumbled in her coat pocket for her keys. A soft padding behind her made her stop. "Eh?"

Turning around only rewarded her with nothing. The street was just as empty as it was a minute ago, yet there was a presence she felt. Moving, her well-worn sneaker scraping on the sidewalk, she turned and started to run. The padding started up again, only this time it changed into a kind of clicking. Rounding the corner, she dropped her purse and broke into a sprint. Blood pounding in her ears, she heard screaming. She didn't know if she was the one doing it.

"Home!" She spied her apartment steps in the distance. Her sides ached, but she ran faster. Sucking wind, she jumped to the landing as she felt a hand grasp her shoulder. Screaming, she flailed her arms around as she fell.

It was the old woman. Her face was bloody, but she was standing. She spoke, but Joanie couldn't understand her. "Go away!" She cried

Turning around, Joanie managed to open the door. Before she slammed it, the old woman had vanished. Joanie made no effort to investigate.

~Now

The full moon shone brightly, brighter than the few working street lights as Joanie made her way home. It had been two weeks to the day she first saw the old woman, and since then she had felt sick. A kind of general sickness overtook her. A queasy sweat seeped out of her pores, leaving her feeling greasy and nauseous all day.

She felt feverish yet cold to the touch. After nearly passing out at the bar she was helping clean up, she staggered towards home. The moon seemed to shine even brighter on her as she moved down the quiet streets.

With each step Joanie found herself looking back on her life. Needlessly cruel, obsessed with fame, and lacking all empathy for her fellow man; Joanie blinked back tears as she leaned against a lamppost. She cursed at the moon. She tried to come up with a defense for herself, but the moon's glow burned away her attempts.

She managed to make it back to her building at last. She was almost crawling by the time she reached her apartment. Inside, and locking the door tightly, she kicked off her shoes and stumbled into the bathroom.

She fell against the wall as she let the sink fill up. "Is it the flu?" She felt her stomach quiver before she dumped her stomach's contents in the toilet. After what seemed like an eternity, she sat back and put her head against the cool tile floor. Her mouth throbbed, like she had been punched.

A burning pain in her back made her sit up. She almost jumped to her feet as she gripped the old sink and used it for support. Hauling herself to her feet, she looked into the mirror and recoiled. The person standing back at her was sickly, drawn; almost cadaverous. The biggest change, however, was her mouth.

Instead of the normally perfect white and straight teeth (the gift for her sweet sixteen party was a full set of braces), her mouth was full of razor sharp fangs. She tried talking, but she only succeeded in cutting her tongue.

Putting her hand to her mouth, Joanie tried to think. "Do I call a doctor? What if I have some weird disease?"

Her scalp began to itch. It started slowly, but quickly grew into an inflamed throbbing that quickly spread down her back and sides. She gasped as hair, thick full hair, began to grow. She wasn't sure what shocked her more, the fact that her shaved hair was now fully back or that the hair was a light orange.

The burning spread down her legs and concentrated in her feet. Sharp nails tore through her socks, along with more tufts of thick orange hair. Her feet elongated, becoming more paw-like, tearing her flimsy cotton socks to shreds. Her toes reshaped themselves, with even the little toe shrinking becoming more vestigial as Joanie watched in horror.

Her nails cracked. The cheap nail polish split and flaked away as large black talons pushed free and grew. The hair grew thicker down her arms, resembling a pelt more than hair. Her ears stretched and shifted. A safety pin, stuck in an old piercing, broke as the flesh hardened and reset itself.

Muscles began to swell under her skin, pushing and tearing her clothes. A loud crack brought tears to her eyes as her jaw broke and reformed. With a frenzied scream, she ripped her tattered shirt free.

The being on the floor bore no resemblance to Joanie Baker. Moments of inactivity ended when the creature stretched and stood up. "Free!" her voice rumbled, deep yet feminine.

Looking over herself in the mirror, the creature gazed in surprise. A name came to her. "Tigra?" The name seemed to fit, though she wasn't sure why. It seemed as good of a title as anything else. She glanced around the tiny bathroom. "There has to be more than this!"

She opened the door, in the process tearing the doorknob off. "Oops!" She carefully put the ruined plastic knob down and inspected the dwelling. Walking past piles of mail and ignoring the bare walls, Tigra went over to the closet. Carefully opening the door, she pulled out a faded leather jacket and slipped it on. "Not a bad fit, but now I think I need some fresh air!"

Carefully opening the window, she stepped out onto a fire escape and took in the full moon. She breathed deeply of the city and laughed. "I'm free!" She leapt from the rusted escape. Landing easily, despite the several story fall, she walked confidently into the street. "What shall I do now?"

She stopped in her tracks. "I have a home, but there's so much to do, so much to see!" She recalled no past, yet she seemed to know the streets. This didn't bother her as she took to running down the sidewalk at full speed. "What fun! Why don't more people do this?" The night wind whipped through her long hair as she leapt over trashcans and swung from streetlights.

The sound of breaking glass made her stop. "Trouble?" her ears perked up. "Maybe I can help?"

The Rat Pack were scavengers. Organized into cells, they roamed the world, looting. Generally they only targeted places hit by natural disasters, but for small scale operations they would act independently. Moving through the sewers, they came out onto the street before their target.

"Alright boys, you know the score!" Number One stepped aside. A tall man, he un-holstered his gun, as three of his fellows smashed the glass door of the pawn shop. He wasn't the first number one, and he knew he wouldn't be the last. Number Three had disabled the store's power lines, so no alarms would go out.

Number Four entered the shop first. "What a haul!" He marveled at the rings and watches on display.

Number One admonished him. "Cheap costume junk, what we want is in the back." Number One remembered the stores layout. The owner was found of fencing items, some of them not the usual markups found on the open market. "Four, you and Six stay outside. Plan Watch, remember?" Four saluted and left. One and Three moved towards the back and the prizes they sought.

"Man, we get to stay out here while they take all the loot!" Six groused.

"Eh, it's a living." Four shrugged as he scanned the street.

Both men's backs were turned when Tigra strolled up to them. "Hi!" Both men turned in shock. Six brought his gun to bear but Four fired first. Tigra ducked the shots easily. "That wasn't very nice!"

"Some kind of hero? One didn't brief us on this!" Four pressed a button on his belt, sending a high frequency warning to the men inside. Tigra looked cross.

"Would you mind turning that device off? It's a bit loud."

"She's attacking!" Six flipped out and shoved his gun in her face. Tigra sighed and easily snatched it from him. She crushed the metal barrel without effort.

"Now look, I asked you nicely!" She stretched her hand, showing her claws. With a swipe, she slashed through Four's belt. The signal ended, but Four found his pants much harder to manage.

One and Three exited the shop, guns and sacks in hand. "What the blue blazes?" One paled under his mask. He had been given dossiers on every super human agent, mutant, and even criminal operating on the East Coast, and he had no idea who the stranger before him was. "Blast it!"

Three took the advice literally and opened fire. Tigra ducked and rolled as the bullets tore through a parked truck and a liquor store across the street. A blaring alarm went off as the lights suddenly flooded the area. "Retreat!"

Tigra looked around in confusion at the noise. The Rat Pack darted towards the open manhole and dove inside. Seeing the straggling Four, Tigra snagged his pants, tearing them free as the man fell down into the sewers. Hearing police sirens on the wind, she decided to flee. "I doubt a six foot cat holding a pair of pants can answer their questions."

She felt around the pockets but found nothing save for a few subway tokens. Leaving them inside, she tossed the pants onto the damaged truck. Jumping, she bounded up the side of the nearby building. Using her hands and feet, she propelled herself up the side and landed on the roof before the first squad car arrived. "Gee, I didn't know I go so high!"

She sat down to think. "Subway tokens don't say much." Her lower lip jutted out as she was deep in thought. "I left the police the evidence, should I let them handle it?"

An idea came to her. An idea of such magnitude she jumped to her feet the moment it formed in her mind. "Of course I'll let them handle it, but I can still help. Being a hero and doing good, that's what I want to do!"

She mulled over her decision. "I can't just barge into things though. Those men down there seemed awfully mean. Maybe I could call someone, but who?"

She sat back down and tried to come up with a plan. She scratched ideas out on the bricks in front of her, but she kept coming up with dead ends. She worked so long she lost track of time. As the first few rays of dawn drove the darkness away, Tigra felt her energy leave. Yawning, she stretched lazily and rolled over to her back. "A small nap should do me just fine." She murmured to herself before she fell into a deep sleep.

Under the dawn's early light, the feline female underwent another strange change. Muscles shrank, fur receded, claws shortened back into regular nails, and in short order a very confused and semi-naked Joanie sat up with a start. She cursed at length at her state of dress. When she finally stopped swearing, she took stock of her surroundings. "How the hell did I get up here?"

Deep within a subbasement, in an undisclosed location, things went into motion. Adrian Turner was the type of man who put things into motion. Sometimes subtly, sometimes not so subtle; at the exact moment his plans were about as subtle as a brick to the face. "What do you mean there were complications?"

Number One, despite being several hundred miles away, nervously looked around his hotel room. "Nothing major sir. We obtained the item per request, but we were attacked by an unknown super human."

Turner felt his blood pressure rise. "Unknown? I gave you full dossiers on every single super hero, crook, mutant, and weirdo in a costume that lives within three hundred miles of your city. How could you run into an unknown factor?"

"She was hairy and wild, like some kind of super cat. She surprised us sir, but like I said, we obtained the object." One ran a hand over his jaw and tried to calm himself.

Turner loudly exhaled and shook the phone receiver. "Alright, that's the important thing. I'll be at the arranged meeting spot within twenty hours. If I have to wait, you know what I'll do to you." He slammed the phone down.

Joanie spent the next few hours trying to figure out what happened to her. She made her way back to her apartment, ignoring the few stares as she stepped off the bus and made her way upstairs. "Did I black out?" She never touched the hard drugs, and she never heard of anyone having the kind of experience she just went through.

When she got to her apartment, she was surprised to see a small bundle wedged under the door. She took it before going inside. "A joke?" She unraveled the paper and found a small medallion. Holding it up to the light, she whistled softly at the craftsmanship.

It felt like solid metal, but then Joanie didn't know much about jewelry. It looked like a golden cat's head with two blue stones set in the eyes. It felt strange in her hand. She tossed it aside and got dressed. "It might be some junky stage prop, or that jackass Jerry's idea of a gag." She pushed it out of her mind as she got ready for work.

Joanie returned that evening. After another brain numbing shift of slinging coffee and hash, she slumped onto the scuffed up chair that was one of her few possessions. The medallion was still on the floor where she dropped it. As the sun began to set, the medallion began to glow. Joanie, her body moving under a command not her own, picked it up and put it on…

True to his word, Turner made his way to the prearranged meeting place. A subway platform may not have been the most original meeting place, but it was quiet and at this time of night, empty. Turner lit a cigarette as a masked man exited the tunnel. "You got the payment?"

Turner removed a large manila envelope from his coat. "You have what I want?"

Number One held up a tightly wrapped bundle. He placed it on the ground and slid it to Turner as the other man did the same. "Pleasure doing business with you!" One snagged the envelope and disappeared into the tunnel.

Turner smirked and picked up the bundle. It cost him a little, but the information inside would make it all worth while. His footsteps echoed off the walls as he moved towards the stairs. To any passerby, he was just another suited New Yorker, no doubt hurrying home after a busy day at the office. One's cries, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body falling, made him stop. Drawing his gun, he took cover behind a pillar.

~ A few hours before

Tigra glanced around the apartment. She touched the medallion absentmindedly before she realized what she was doing. "I know this! I know what this is!" Images of creatures like herself came to mind, although she was unaware of the context. The visions stopped as she removed the torn garments and slipped into the familiar black leather jacket and torn pants. An idea came to her, something so simple she chastised herself for not thinking of it sooner.

Slipping outside, she darted across the rooftops, back to where she first encountered the strange men. Leaping to the street, she removed the manhole cover. "His scent! I can smell him, out of everything else!" She focused on the particular scent of the man. The subways tokens, but the potent combination of unwashed flesh, gun oil, and the sewers. Leaping down before anyone could spot her, she raced through the noxious tunnels, easily moving in the same direction as her prey.

The trail twisted and turned, exiting the sewers and entering the subway proper. She strolled past various people, ignoring their shocked expressions, until the trail picked up again inside the tunnels. "He must have gotten on a train, so there's no telling where he is now!"

She almost gave up hope when she caught whiff of another scent. "That one in charge, he was here!" She almost skipped as she followed the scent down the tunnel. Going through a few man made holes, access doors, and various backtracks, she finally found her quarry

One was moving back towards her, unaware of her presence. She dropped down behind him. He cried out once before she silenced him with a well placed punch to the jaw. She dragged him away from the tracks and put him in a safe place. The other man on the platform drew a gun. The glare from the overhead lights hurt her eyes, but she was thankful for the dark. "At least he can't see me!"

Turner fired a shot. The bullet struck harmlessly several yards away. "I know someone's there!" He was aiming again. Not anywhere close to her, but he might get lucky. She slipped One's shoes off and threw them at the lights above Turner's position.

Turner ducked as the glass broke and sparks rained down. Shielding his eyes, he stepped back as Tigra rushed him. He stared slack-jawed as the cat-like creature knocked his gun away and backhanded him into a row of vending machines. He weakly looked up. "What are you?"

"Someone who doesn't like jerks in her city!" She picked up the bundled object. "Now what is worth all this hassle?"

"No!" Turner forced himself up. Staggering, he snagged her wrists and tried to force the object from her hands. Grappling with her was next to impossible, as she easily slipped free of his hands. The object, however, fell from her grasp. Thanks to an errant kick, it sailed over the edge and landed on the third rail.

Whatever material comprised the object it didn't react well to the rail, and quickly melted into a puddle of foul smelling liquid and ash. Turner gnashed his teeth as he stared at the smoking ruin. "You'll pay for that! I will use everything at my disposal to make your life hell!"

Tigra bared her fangs in response. "Well gabba-gabba hey to you too pal!" Hearing the train approaching, she back flipped over the edge and landed safely on the far wall. As the train roared into the station, she leapt onto the roof as Turner was pushed away by the crowds.

A commotion broke out as Number One was found tied and gagged near the platform. A transit cop helped haul him as Turner slipped away. "I can't say anything, not yet at any rate." She hugged the roof of the train, unseen by Turner. He wanted whatever that thing was, and I'm certain he was up to no good, but how do I prove it?"

She stayed on the roof as the train pulled out of the station. The last she saw of Number One was his being led away in handcuffs. "Well, I got one of them at least, but I doubt that jerk in the suit is going to go away quietly."

When the train got to a good speed she rolled on her back. It was dark, but with her vision she could make out every nook and cranny in the old tunnels. "This is all so strange, but really neat! I want to keep doing this." She fondled the medallion around her neck. "I wonder who gave this to me?"

Leaping off the roof at the next stop, Tigra walked past a group of young men wearing leather jackets, all of them sporting long black hair. The tallest one, his eyes hidden behind rose colored glasses, nodded at her. "Cool outfit." His voice was pure Forrest Hills.

"Thanks!" She beamed and walked up the steps towards the cool night. "What a night, but I feel good. I'm not totally sure what I am, but I know this: I'm a force for good!" She smiled to herself as she walked home, the wind whipping her long hair around her.

"Are you sure this was wise?" Two women stood outside Joanie's apartment. The older one, her face bandaged, leaned heavily on a cane and shook her head at the younger woman's question.

"I'm as sure as I can be Greer." Dr. Joanne Tumulo glanced around the neighborhood. "I admit, perhaps giving her the medallion this early was a cheat."

Greer Nelson, otherwise known as the Cat, raised an eyebrow at her mentor's words. "Why give her the power at all? You've seen what kind of person she is!"

"True, she has some rough edges, but I think deep down Miss Baker has some goodness inside. The power of Tigra can bring that out and develop it." Dr. Tumolo winced as she leaned on her cane. "I admit, being beaten by a gang of thugs wasn't the best trial by fire…"

"She left you to die!" Greer protested.

"A mistake, but Greer, look at me." Dr. Tumolo's face suggested a woman of the early 50's, but Greer knew her to be much older. "My experiences with the Cat People were interesting, and I relished being their champion." Her face seemed to grow older as she spoke. "But adventure is a young person's game, and I can't be a part of it anymore." She silenced Greer's protesting glare. "You have your own adventures. My experiments to maximize your potential proved fruitful, but I can't subject everyone to that kind of rigorous procedure. With Miss Barker, I can finally pass on my other legacy."

The answer satisfied Greer, at least for the moment. "Should I introduce myself to Tigra or the girl?"

"Perhaps both; when the mantle of the Tigra is passed, the host is often unaware. If you should show up as the Cat and started to speak to her, Miss Barker might not understand what is happening. Befriend her in both forms, and I know you can do it." Greer shrugged her shoulders as they flagged down a cab.

"I just wonder how all of this is going to play out?" Greer looked at the city skyline as the sun's rays peaked over the old tenant buildings.

The end

This story is largely original, with the following characters coming from the following works:

Joanie Baker first appeared in Our Love Story#21 (February 1973) with credits to Stan Lee (writer), John Buscema (pencils), and Dick Ayers (inks)

The Cat and Dr. Tumolo both first appeared in The Cat#1 (November 1972) with credits to Roy Thomas/Linda Fite (script), Marie Severin (pencils/colors), Wally Wood (inks), and John Costanza (letters)

The Rat Pack first appeared in Marvel Chillers#3 (February 1976) with credits to Tony Isabella (script), Will Meugniot (pencils), Frank Chiaramonte and Sam Grainger (inks), Petra Goldberg (colors), and Joe Rosen (letters)

Adrian Turner first appeared in Team America#5 (October 1982) with credits to Bill Mantlo (script), Alan Kupperburg (pencils), and Vince Colleta (inks)

All works published by Marvel, with all rights reserved.

Ok, things went slightly different this time; I was going to have just a straight retelling of Greer Nelson's change into Tigra (only minus her time as the Cat), when a combination of talking things out (my thanks to Darci as always, and a special thanks for the editing) plus finding the character of Joanie Baker made me rethink the idea.

Next time, we see the most unlikely head on collision ever witnessed by man! Dare you miss the Hypno-Hustler and his latest scheme? It's a bet that US Archer can't, so what will your excuse be?

Be here for "Bad Day on the Black Top"

Upcoming tales:

Journey Into Mystery#17-Lady Thor Meets Mr. Hyde!

Sensational Comics#16-Battle Royal

The Avengers#3- The Avengers VS the Space Phantom

Tales to Astonish#15-Defy the Porcupine!


	8. Hypno Hustler

The Hypno Hustler

Bad Day on the Black Top

Antonie Delsoin grinned broadly as he walked past the prison processing center. Delsoin, better known as the Hypno Hustler, strolled behind the prison guards. He had changed out the drab prison grays into a plain blue thread suit.

He had already signed out on his possessions and made his way down the walkway. He ignored the incoming inmates getting off the bus and the guards. He ignored the dirty looks as he waited patiently for the last door to his freedom to open.

After an eternity, the gate parted and Delsoin walked confidently into the free air. "No more gimmicks, no more Mercy Killers, nothing but my brain and me!"

-H

Delsoin was starting to regret his plan. After swearing off costumed crime and getting his customized silver Chevrolet Corvette out of storage and racing down the highway, he realized too late that while he had paid a pretty penny to keep the car physically safe, he forgot to pay for the upkeep.

Sitting by the side of the road, his blue suit black with sweat, Delsoin shook his head. "Of course this happens miles from town!" He angrily kicked a rock. "Why me? Everyone else who tangles with Spider-Man gets cushy jobs and fame! Why do I get but a busted car and nothing else?"

A truck appeared over the horizon. Delsoin waved his arms, hopping for a ride. As the truck got closer, his regret over the day grew.

It was a large black semi. He saw no license plate and the windows were as dark as the cab. The truck's brakes engaged, sounding all the while like an animal snorting. Delsoin stood nervously before the truck. "Hey, can a fellow get a ride?"

The truck's engine rumbled. The window on the driver's side rolled down. "You the Hypno-Hustler, aren't you?" The voice made it clear that wasn't meant to be question.

"Who's asking?"

"Folks call me the Highwayman, and I've been looking for you ever since I heard about your release. Climb in and let's talk."

Glancing around the barren desert, Delsoin saw no alternative. Grabbing his suitcase, he climbed into the cab of the waiting truck. To his relief, the Highwayman was human.

The driver was actually fairly boring looking. He was a bit older than Delsoin, he guessed, with black hair and pale skin. Once Delsoin had strapped himself in, the truck lurched forward. "Yes sir, read about you for a while now." The Highwayman grinned as he shifted gears. "Heard about you almost taking out Spider-Man back east; darn impressed by that I have to say."

"Thanks man, but what's your deal? I mean, thanks for the ride but I've been around the block enough times to know how this goes down. You want my help, right?"

The Highwayman's grin increased. "To the point eh? Alright, yes, I need your help. I have a plan, see, and your technology is the key part. You work with me and I guarantee plenty of green in the bank. What do you say?"

Delsoin looked down at his sweat stained suit and meager bag. "Well brother, looks you have a new partner."

-H

The Highwayman's story, which he related to Delsoin as they drove through the barren desert, was an odd one. Delsoin was tempted to write the whole thing as insanity, but then he remembered who was driving. Tales of aliens and competing contests with super space trucks still struck him as a bit implausible.

Nearing an abandoned gas station, the Highwayman spilled his plan. "You can make stuff that can turn people into zombies, right?"

"Something like that. My music puts them in a hypnotic state and I can order them to do basic things."

The Highwayman grinned. "Like say, take a detour?"

"I suppose so, why?"

He slapped the dashboard. "Because every single truck on the road today has a citizen band radio inside; if one were to place a device that could lure the drivers into a state, why not have them drive their cargo to us?"

Delsoin considered the plan. "Not bad, and the radios are in armored cars too." He laughed at the idea of the loot coming to him. "Shoot, we could make a killing and never leave the house!"

The Highwayman joined in his laughter. "So do we have a deal?"

"Hell yes partner!" Delsoin stuck out his hand, but he suddenly remembered an old prison saying: 'careful with shaking hands with the devil, as you'll want to let go before he does'.

-H

"Well, that's a nice amount for one load." Delsoin, dressed back in his Hypno Hustler duds, glanced at the tables around him. Every square inch was covered in small devices. "But how the heck can that jive turkey put them in radios?"

Almost on cue, the Highwayman appeared in the doorway. "Are they ready?"

"Sure, but how are we going to get them inside the radios?"

"You let me handle that, understand?" He spun around, his cape twirling behind him.

"Man, and I thought the Mercy Killers were a bunch of divas!"

The Highwayman, better known as Jefferson Hercules Archer, fumed. He knew he was lucky not to be in the prison, but having to act subservient to anyone made him grind his teeth. He walked down to the hall towards a secret door.

The gas station had been refitted to an insane degree, thanks in part to the real head of the business. Howard Mitchell, formerly known as the Hijacker, sat behind a large desk. "Well?"

"The Hustler is working sir." Mitchell spun around in his chair. Despite his age, he could still hold his own in a fight.

"Drop the horror show act Archer. You swear this guy is legit?"

"He nearly brought Spider-Man to his knees!"

"Yeah, well, nearly doesn't cut it." Mitchell leaned back in his chair. He had found Archer's rig after it had crashed and Archer not too far away. He thought the younger man's raving about aliens and outer space truck stops a touch odd, but the rig was unlike anything he had ever seen.

Bankrolling the operation had been expensive. If not for some cleaver accounting, he would have been wiped out when the Ant-Man and Wasp had exposed him years ago. "Going through my dummy companies, I'll install that phony CB's in the new trucks. Instead of high-jacking them, we'll just have the drivers drop off their cargo elsewhere."

"Sir, about my plan…" Archer began but Mitchell cut him off.

"Revenge? You know what real revenge is boy? Living well and being richer than your enemies. I could track down the Ant-Man and Wasp and duke it out, but I'm not. I'm a few thousand miles away and when this is over I'll be a few million richer. And so will you, so keep your nose clean until then. You want your brother dead, whack him we've made it, understand?"

"I just think Midnight would be a good operative." Mitchell glowered at him.

"You listen to me boy." Mitchell's voice lowered. "I'm the boss here. Your spook show act may scare the rubes on the back roads, but I've tangled with the Avengers. All I want you to do is run interference. Just in case any of these guys fail to get to the program, run them off the road. Got it?"

"Yes sir." Archer clenched his fists under his cape.

A few weeks later, things were going to plan. Thanks to Mitchell's efforts, hundreds of the Hustler's tainted radios were now in the cabs of hundreds of new trucks. Under the Hypno Hustler's commands, hundreds of rigs were now delivering their cargo to the Highwayman. Electronics, food, cars, and nearly everything else was now ending inside the Blackrig.

"So, while I'm not complaining, mind you, but what exactly are you doing with this stuff?" Delsoin asked idly as he counted his money.

"None of your business!" the Highwayman snarled. In truth, he was simply delivering the goods to Mitchell. From there the man was selling them via the black market and making a killing. "Leaving us with the crumbs, but that will change soon!"

Much to Delsoin's shock, business continued. With the desolation of the area working to their advantage, they only had the local authorities to contend with. So it came as no surprise when everything went wrong.

"Hustler!" The Highwayman barged into the lab with a large sack slung over his shoulder.

"Yeah?" Delsoin carefully moved forward. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to do something for me, now!" With a dramatic flourish, he opened the sack. A blonde woman, unconscious (so Delsoin hoped) slumped out of the bag.

"What is this?" Delsoin gripped a large wrench in his hand. "What did you do?"

"Hustler, meet my sister in-law. Mary McGrill Archer, but she used to be known as Midnight."

"Like I care about your crazy ass family! What did you do?"

"I got her, and I need you to make her Midnight again. I already have the components; I just need your skill to make it permanent."

"What? Why?"

"Because it will hurt several people I know, plus it will finally allow me my freedom!"

Unseen by both men, Mitchell was listening in on a small microphone hidden in the lab. "Archer you fool!" Sighing with disgust, Mitchell walked over to a small radio set. Picking up the microphone, he began to record.

Delsoin nervously tapped his foot. He didn't use to have nervous habits. That was before he strapped some woman he didn't know to a table and inserted electrodes in her head. "Look man, I invent tech, yeah, but I'm not some kind of Frankenstein."

"Shut up!" The Highwayman growled. "The technology works, and it should connect to her brain properly, but I need someone with some known how to make sure it takes."

"Yeah, yeah." Delsoin finished the task at hand and stepped back. Mary's eyes snapped open as the machines suddenly overloaded. Sparks flew as Mary sat upright. The Highwayman laughed cruelly.

"Come back to me Midnight! Your master commands it!"

Mary began to convulse as the sparks sparked off a series of small fires. Her blonde hair suddenly began to darken as a cruel look overcame her features.

Mary began to convulse as the sparks sparked off a series of small fires. Her blonde hair suddenly began to darken as a cruel look overcame her features. Her body stilled and her breath grew shallow.

Just as Delsoin was about to call for help, Midnight slowly climbed off the table. "What do you want me to do Master?"

The Highwayman's laughter echoed off the walls as Delsoin edged away from the duo. "Great, it looks like wall to wall wackos! But if that girl can carry her weight, I guess it won't be too bad."

So it went; the Highwayman ordered Delsoin to keep Midnight in the lab when he wasn't taking her out. When the Highwayman was around, Midnight was talkative but obedient. When he was away, she was like a doll; just sitting in the corner or standing off to the side and saying nothing. This was the status quo for nearly a week.

"Creepy man, but as soon as my wallets is fat enough, I'm splitting this freaky scene." He swore, but for some reason he stayed despite his fortune swelled past comfort and straight into bloated. He now had more money than he could possibly spend. Why did he linger?

Fear? Possibly, Delsoin prided himself on not being a fighter. The Highwayman looked tough, true, but when it came down to it he'd rather avoid a fight. There was something else though. He had a feeling that the Highwayman wasn't the one calling the shots. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard the Highwayman arguing with an unseen voice .

"Sir, I told you, I can handle it. She's the perfect solider and will take any order I give her!"

The other voice was muffled, but Delsoin could tell it was angry and loud. "Ok, so mister horror show here takes orders from someone else. How I can I use that?"

-Several hours later

Mitchell sighed with annoyance. The figures were in and they were making money. They were also attracting attention. Several times both Midnight and the Highwayman had been attacked a red, white, and blue semi truck, as well as more costumed individuals. They had escaped but only barely.

"Time to close up shop I think. Whenever those costumed mooks get involved, problems just spring up like roaches." He had already burned all the records. Without him, the dummy companies would dissolve and leave no trace. Mitchell looked over his office one final time. "I knew it wasn't a permanent thing, but damn, it sure felt like it."

He turned off the lights and made his way up towards the main part of the complex. He patted his suit jacket. In one pocket a large envelope greeted his fingers, while in another was the familiar heft of a pistol. "Time to check in with the employees I think."

Delsoin was busy, as usual, at his work station. Soldering several motherboards together, he was thrown to the floor as the walls shook. "The hell?" He dusted himself as another quake made the room vibrate.

Slipping his goggles over his eyes, he wiped the dust and dirt from a monitor and turned it on. Outside, he saw the black rig of the Highwayman racing neck and neck with a red, white, and blue rig. Midnight was weaving in-between them, cracking a large whip.

"Sad, isn't?" A voice made him jump.

Spinning around, Delsoin stared at the old man before him. "Who are you?"

"Nobody special, just an old man looking to get one last score in." Mitchell slipped a hand inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "I've been around long enough to know when to call it quits." He tossed the envelope to the floor. "I'd suggest you take it and split kid. I've set the timer on this joint for about two minutes."

Delsoin carefully picked up the envelope. "Wait; are you the guy who was running things?"

"You might say that." Mitchell was already down the hall towards his secret escape tunnel. "I'll keep in touch. Your stuff worked out fine; it was that bozo in the truck that fouled up everything."

Red lights began to flash. "What?"

Mitchell shot him a glance before the door closed. "Take care kid, and take it from me, don't let things get personal." The wall slid shut behind him.

Slipping the envelope into his jacket, Delsoin heeded the old man's advice. Grabbing his bags and sprinting for the garage, he slid into his car and started the motor as the red lights suddenly stopped.

Slamming the accelerator, he launched his car out of the garage as a series of explosions tore through the complex. Out on the open road, he broke into a cold sweat as he saw the two big rigs both turn around. "Aw, nuts!"

Both trucks were now facing him, and barreling down the highway at well over the posted speed limit; he had a feeling that neither driver was concerned about his welfare. Spinning to a stop, he ignored the smell of burning rubber. He wasn't concerned about racing, just survival.

Giving the silver car as much gas he could, he sped away from the two trucks barring down on him. "If I can get off the road, maybe they'll just go past me!" His windshield cracked from Midnight's whip. The dark haired beauty cackled madly as she darted in front of him. "Or maybe not!"

The two alien powered trucks roared as they raced neck and neck. Unable to stop, and lacking any place to get off, Delsoin slammed his foot to the floor. Midnight drifted in front of him, still waving her whip around. He wasn't sure if she was trying to stop him from leaving, or if this was another part of her madness.

As the crack grew in his windshield, he didn't care. Barreling past her, he increased the speed as the trucks loomed in his rear view mirror. "Man, why did I not go for the extras on this thing?" He briefly flashed to an image of the pursuing vehicles crashing thanks to an array of gadgets hidden in the car. Sadly, his car was only a car.

Midnight's whip cracked his rear windshield. "This is just getting stupid!" He drifted in front of her and applied the brakes. Midnight swore and swerved, plowing off the road.

Increasing the speed, he saw her bike bounce once on the soft dirt before she was thrown from it. She plowed into a large sand dune. "Sorry honey, but there is no way I'm stopping now!"

Several hours later, the chase was still going on. The Highwayman was the one getting closer. Delsoin didn't know if the Blackrig's driver was even aware of him anymore and he didn't care.

Suddenly, the red and blue truck spun out. Wings shot out from under the cab and it took to the air. Rocketing over the black truck, it dropped like a stone and crushed the trailer, sparking off a fire. The rig tore free from the burning trailer and flipped over. Delsoin never looked back as the truck exploded in a massive fireball.

As the sun set over the border, Delsoin stretched his legs and leaned against the trunk. "Not a bad time, but a hell of a way to earn it." The car was loaded with cash and blueprints. "About a quarter of gas too; enough to make it to the beach I think."

All in all, not the worst thing he had ever been involved with. He had been listening to the radio after he fled from the scene. Midnight had been found, alive, and restored to her old self. U.S.1, or whatever his name was, had pulled his brother from the burning wreck and taken him to the police.

He knew the Highwayman would rat him out, but a few hours from now he'd be someplace warm and with no ties to the US at all, and that was all he cared about. "Oh yeah, looks like the Hypno-Hustler is going to rise to the top!"

Light flooded the area. Two voices called out, one in Spanish and the other in English. "Put your hands were we can see them and step away from the vehicle!"

"Aw, man." He did as he was ordered. Police and Federales swarmed the area. He caught a glimpse of a Quinjet landed as he was forced to the ground and his arms shackled.

As he was loaded into the waiting van, he couldn't but smile. Sure, he would go back to jail, but he remembered something: he won. He out ran his partners and lived, plus he scored a large sum of money.

The physical money would be gone by the time he got out, but he did plan for this and had transferred most of it to a secret account. He wouldn't be rich when he walked again, but he'd be in a better position. He smiled to himself as the van drove back towards the border and prison.

The end

This story was original, but the characters were created by the following:

The Hypno Hustler first appeared in Peter Parker, the Spectacular Spider-Man #24 (November 1978), with credits to Bill Mantlo (script), and Frank Springer (pencils and inks)

The Highwayman first appeared in U.S. 1#1 (May 1983), with credits to Al Milgrom (writer), Herb Trimpe (pencils), and Mike Esposito (inks)

Howard Mitchell first appeared in Tales to Astonish I#40 (February 1963), with credits to Stan Lee, Larry Leiber (script) and Jack Kirby (pencils)

And now the fan mail:

From They Call Me Bruce

_Some great writing in this chapter_

From Wolvmbm

_Very interesting story. Makes me wonder if the Cat or this new version of Tigra will cross paths with the Avengers, just like in the comics? I never knew of Joanie Baker until you mentioned where she's from in the end of this tale. Seems like there is a lot of non-Superheroes that pre-date the Silver Age of Marvel that I don't know about. Please do keep up the good work upon such a great series like this one as I hope for a sequel to this story and that the Cat will meet Tigra in the future._

Well, anything is possible, and as for a sequel I wouldn't consider it impossible. Just keep tuned to your monitor for future developments.

From Darci

_I've never seen Our Love Story#21, so I'm not familiar at all with Joanie. I always get a kick out of seeing that name in Marvel Comics, since that's Mrs. Stan Lee. I wonder how she feels about appearing in her husband's stories? The GCD lists three stories in that issue. Joanie appears in the first. I wonder if the other two will supply fodder for your stories in the future…_

_The Rat Pack have had several incarnations at Marvel. The second tangled with Tigra in Marvel Chillers#3 and 5-7. Interesting that you chose them to be the first of Tigra's opponents, just as Tony Isabella did._

_I'm very thrilled to see the origin of Tigra did not put an end to the adventures of Greer Nelson. Looking forward to more!_

Hey now, you might give me ideas! I felt the Rat Pack would be a good first foe for a cat, don't you? As for a sequel, maybe, maybe…

Be here next time when the Taskmaster encounters the Armless Tiger Man!

Upcoming tales:

Sensational Comics#17-She-Hulk VS the Thing

Tales to Astonish#16-Birth of Giant Girl

Journey Into Mystery#18-Lady Thor working with the Cobra and Mr. Hyde?

The Avengers#4- Meet the Sub-Mariner


	9. The Taskmaster

The Taskmaster

"The Cult of the Tiger!"

The Taskmaster was not an easy person to find. So when three black suited men in shades strolled into the nameless dive and sat down at his corner booth, his attention was perked. When they opened their mouths it lessened.

"Herr Taskmaster, we are looking to procure your services." The accent was straight out of central casting. He was shocked the man didn't have a dueling scar and monocle.

"I'm not cheap. How many men are you looking to train?"

"An army!" the second man, lacking the phony German tones, scowled. "We have been told you are the best there is at what you do."

"That's another guy. Me? I'm just a simple teacher." He sipped his drink slowly. "A million up front, another when I finish."

Now it was the third man's time to talk. "That's outrageous!"

"I cost the most because I'm the best. I expect to be paid for my efforts. There have been too many guys who say they can pay me once they rule the world. I'm not interested in maybes."

The men conferred with each other. At length the first man spoke. "Very well, we accept your terms. You will meet us at this location and at this date. Don't be late." The man slipped a card across the table. "You will be paid once you arrive."

"A pleasure doing business with you gentlemen." He tipped his glass at them as they silently left.

-T

Some time later, the Taskmaster stood on a dock in one of the seedy ports in the world when the three men from the bar reappeared from the shadows. All three were carrying very large suitcases. "We have your money. Now will you help us?"

"Of course." He took the cases easily. Handing them off to a few nameless helpers, he followed the men to a large yacht. "Fancy ride."

"_Wagner's Pride_ shall take you to our location. You will be searched while onboard and checked for listening devices or other tracking implements. Resist and you will be shot. Reveal our whereabouts to the any outsiders and you will be shot."

"I'm getting a distinct lack of trust on your part." Under his skull mask, the Taskmaster grinned. "Like I said gentlemen, I'm the best. That means I'm professional, so just be cool and we'll all get what we want."

He ignored the muttered German curses and walked up the gangway. True to the men's words, he was searched to the skin by a team of experts. Once they were satisfied he redressed and went to the captain's quarters.

The first man from the bar was sitting behind an ornate oak desk. "Herr Taskmaster, I'm so glad you passed our test. Are you ready for the details about your task?"

"Yes," he helped himself to the liquor cabinet as his employer talked.

"Tell me, how familiar are you with the German agent dubbed the Armless Tiger Man?"

Taskmaster sipped the aged whiskey slowly. "Only vaguely, I think he tangled with the Angel during the war."

The man smiled. "Yes, yes he did. Tell me, do you know why he was called the Armless Tiger Man?"

"I figured it was because he lacked arms."

"Good! Yes, the man was born Gustav Hertz. He was a simple machinist in one of the countless factories outside Berlin when his arms were caught in the gears. Both arms had to be amputated."

"Pity. So he decided to fight the Allies because he lost his arms?"

"No! Hertz was a true believer in our Fuehrer's dream! Even with both arms missing, he still walked to the army and begged for a chance to serve der Fatherland! Hertz was taken in and trained, his teeth augmented and his feet altered. Within months they produced the greatest assassin to ever walk the Earth!"

"I know some people who would argue that point, but let me guess. You want me to train your troops so you can have an army of tiger men?"

"Exactly! Hertz was truly the superior man. He needed no chemicals like Master Man and no gimmicks like that buffoon Iron Cross, no, the Armless Tiger Man was the perfect physical specimen. We have footage of his fighting. Can you copy it and impart the techniques to our men?"

The Taskmaster finished his drink. "Provided the next part of your payment clears, sure."

"Excellent! With you at our side, we will overtake the world and crush all the machines!" The man continued his speech, ignoring the Taskmaster. "One thing not many people know about Hertz was that he held a special hatred for machines. If people weren't so dependent on those godless hunks of metal he wouldn't have lost his arms. His missions in America had him striking at that soft country's mechanical underbelly. Once our men are ready we will continue his mission!"

-T

For the next several days, Taskmaster did nothing but watch old film footage of the Armless Tiger Man. Hertz was an impressive physical specimen, he had to admit. With both arms gone, Hertz trained and developed his legs to near superhuman levels.

His lower jaw was enhanced, enabling him to bite through metal, as well as support his own weight. The lack of arms would ordinarily be a problem, but he managed to copy the man's movements thanks to his photogenic reflexes. "Now the issue is how can I train these morons in time?"

-T

"Alright ladies, attention!" Taskmaster barked. His recruits snapped to order as he made his way up and down the aisles. Twenty men stood in a neat group. They all wore fairly non-descript black uniforms. Judging from the looks of most, he doubted any of them had ever had a straight one-on-one fight. "Ok, here's where the fun begins. Anyone of you who can knock me out gets out of basic. What do you say?" He unclipped his belt and dropped it for emphasis.

-forty seconds later

"That the best you losers got?"

The Taskmaster stood over the men. He hadn't even broken a sweat; where as most of the men had broken something major at a minimum. "If that was your best I suggest you start looking into something less stressful."

"What do you think you're doing?" The second man from the bar stepped outside. "We give you men to train, not break!"

"Training is what I'm doing. They're scuffed up a bit, yeah, but what will happen when they fight Captain America? You think the Punisher will go easy on them? Or the Hulk?"

"Yes, but if they are injured they can't train! Our time table will not allow for any deviations. Train them, but we need fifteen at a bare minimum if we are to have any hope of success." The man gave a self-satisfied smirk and walked off.

"Baby them? Alright, as long as the check clears." The Taskmaster slipped his belt on and had the few who could walk carry the ones who couldn't off to the side.

-T

Thus it went for the next several weeks. The Taskmaster would train the men as hard as he could. Most of them improved and some even showed signs of competence.

During one training session, the first man (as the Taskmaster never bothered to learn either man's name) marched stiffly into the training floor. "Attention!"

With a nod from Taskmaster, the recruits snapped to attention. The first man ignored this sign and continued to talk. "Gentlemen, our time has arrived!" He grinned widely. "The legacy of the Armless Tiger Man will survive into the Twenty-First Century! Through these doors lies your destiny!"

As the troops marched out through the wide double doors, the first man took the Taskmaster aside. "Have you trained them?"

Under his white skull mask he gave the man a withering look. "That's what I've been paid to do, isn't it?"

"Excellent!" The double door slammed shut as the last recruit walked through them. "I was hoping you would be willing to perform another task for us."

"If the check clears; what, you want me to lead these kids?"

If anything the man's grin grew wider. "Yes! Precisely! We want you in front when we charge the soon to be capitol of our new Reich!"

The Taskmaster shook his head. He had been ordered to train the men to attack inside an urban environment, so he knew they wanted to assault a city. From the level of security they were supposed to overcome, he guessed they were making a play on Washington.

"Sorry chief, I just train them, I don't lead them." He started to walk away.

The man's grin vanished. "We can't let you walk away knowing what you know."

Taskmaster didn't even hear the gun clicking to know the man was drawing on him. Borrowing a move from Captain America, the Taskmaster knocked the gun free of the man's hand with one fist and punched him square in the throat with the other. "You think you're the first person to try and kill me?" The man coughed and staggered back. He swept him off his feet with a move that Iron Fist would have enjoyed. "I train troops, that's all. I don't knock over banks and I don't try to take over the world. If you morons want to run things so bad, go ahead!" Drawing his sword, he pressed the blade to the man's chest. "But don't drag me into your little dress-up games!"

Blood curdling screams coming from behind the double doors gave him pause. "I have a feeling I know what's going on, but why don't you enlighten me?" He removed the sword and pointed the blade at the doors.

The man looked puzzled, not at his actions but his words. "I thought you understood? In order to live up to the legacy of the Armless Tiger Man, all our troops are having their arms cut off."

It was a while before the Taskmaster could speak. "That has got to be the dumbest idea I've ever heard."

"Nonsense!" Another door opened. "If you fail to see our genius, then we must eliminate you as well!" The other two men from the bar entered, nearly making the Taskmaster do a double-take. The second man's arms had been removed at the shoulder. The third man's head was missing, his hands placed neatly on the second's shoulders for balance. A large bulge in the man's chest suggested his brain may have been placed inside his torso. The first man reached down to his hips and neatly popped his legs off.

The Taskmaster stared as the first man rolled over to the pair. The third man stood still as the first man climbed onto his shoulders. From there the pair of them hopped onto the second man's back. "Now you face the Ultimate Tiger Man!" The first man crowed from his vantage point. "And from here, you look so small!" He laughed madly. "Open the doors and let our new army gaze upon the world!"

The main doors slid open. Instead of a fighting force, all that staggered out were men sporting heavy gauze around their torsos. The new Tiger Man raged at his forces. "Fight him you fools, fight!"

"How about we wait until their anesthetic wears off? Because these boys are in no condition to move, much less fight." The Taskmaster poked the closest one for emphasis. The man fell over and moaned.

"But, Hertz was a master at combat!"

"He also had doctors you morons!" He sheathed his sword and drew his gun. Two quick shots at the bottom man's knees brought the Ultimate Tiger Man down. The first man crawled from the bodies and starred defiantly at the Taskmaster. Taskmaster ignored them and shut the doors to the operating theater, trapping the men inside. "At least in there the docs can take care of them." He gave the three men a withering glare. He noticed at length the first man was trying to say something. "What?"

"Kill me! Our deaths will serve to motivate our men into a righteous force against the decadent machinery of the world!"

The Taskmaster laughed. "From the state of those boys, I don't think that will motivate them to harm me." An explosion from outside rocked the complex. Walking over to one of the doctors, he pulled the man aside. "Ok sawbones, what is going on?"

"We are under attack! A man with red, white, and blue hair is attacking our perimeter!"

"Jack Flag? Uh, the kid's got some brass, or else Fury's standards have dropped considerably." He holstered his gun. "Gentlemen, as much as I would love to teach you some more, I think it is time for me to leave." He calmly walked past the doctors and bleeding men as more of the complex shook.

"Wait, the rest of our forces is still inside the room! Without their arms, they can't use the hand scanner to escape and fight!" The doctor pleaded.

"That, while hilarious, is really not my problem." He slipped away as a part of the ceiling fell and pinned the doctor to the ground.

He made it quickly to his quarters. As a rule he also packed light. Slipping off his costume, he quickly dressed in a nondescript pair of coveralls and a ball cap. Shoving everything inside a duffle bag, he made one last sweep before tossing an incendiary bomb inside the room. "Just in case they feel like going through anything with a fine toothed comb." He made it out as the fire burned away anything that could link him to the room.

The explosions were growing louder outside. "Just to beat feet, but I'm glad I got the payment in advance." He popped open a plate and entered an access tunnel. Sliding down a ladder, he jogged through the tunnel until he came to a fork. "Good thing I memorized these tunnels when I first arrived."

As a precaution, he had taken to walking around the base at night. The security was so slipshod he was able to mark various escape routes out of the base in case things went south. Taking the right fork, he made his way down the tunnel until he came to the end. Opening an access hatch, he starred into the drainage system. Taking a small square of fabric from his pocket, he pulled a cord and dropped it into the water.

The square unfolded into a raft. Hopping into the black rubber lifesaver, he left the current take him outside. He had sabotaged the grate leading to the outside a few hours before, so he simply sat back as the grate popped free and sank as he floated out into the ocean.

Glancing up at the stars, he got a good idea of his bearings. Unfolding a paddle, he slowly began to make his way towards freedom when a major explosion tore the building apart. He spotted a SHIELD airship floating off in the distance. "Guess those boys didn't pay as much attention as I thought. Ah well, live and learn."

The end

Now for the fan mail, and thanks as always for Darci's amazing proofreading this latest tale for everyone.

They Call Me Bruce

_Good writing here, fella_

Original tale, but the following characters were created by the following:

The Taskmaster first appeared in The Avengers I#195 (May 1980) with credits to David Michelinie (script), George Perez (pencils), Dan Green and Jack Abel (inks), Ben Sean (colors), and John Costanza (letters).

Armless Tiger Man first appeared in Marvel Mystery Comics #26 (December 1941) with credits to Paul Gustavson (pencils), Al Bellman (inks), and Joe Simon (editor)

Jack Flag first appeared in Captain America I#434 (December 1994) with credits to Mark Gruenwald (script), Dave Hoover (pencils), Danny Bulanadi (inks), George Roussos (colors), and Joe Rosen (letters).

Be here next time the Yancy Street Gang rumbles with some new foes on the block! Be here next time for "Roller Disco Smash!"

Check out the upcoming issues, coming soon to a monitor near you!

The Avengers#5 -The Return of Captain America!

Journey into Mystery#19-The Return of Zarko, the Tomorrow Man!

Sensational Comics#18-the Avengers Take Over!

Tales to Astonish#17-The Wasp VS the Human Top!


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